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\  Form  No.  513, 
Rev.  1184 

1 

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IY  MANSE  DURING  THE  ¥AR: 


A  Decade  of  Letters       '  & 


TO   THE 


REV.  J.  THOMAS  MTJRRA1T, 


Editor  of  the  JAeihoalist  Cprotestant 


BY 


T.  B.  BALCH,  S.  T.  D. 


BALTIMORE: 

PRINTED    BY    SHERWOOD    &    CO 

N.  W.  COR.  BALTIMORE  AND  GAY  STREETS. 


1866. 


WESeaVATH* 


IDEJDIC-A.TIOISr. 


TO   THE    REV.   DANIEL   BOWERS, 

The  followltt^'/playfiil  Letters,  are  dedicated,  as  they  are,  because  you  think 
them  calculated  in'sente  <sai"all ^degree,  at  least,  to  allay  that  bitter  sectional 
feeling  engendered  by  the  disastrous  war  through  -which  our  country  has  so 
recently  passed.  Add  to  this  that  our  intercourse  as  Christian  Ministers  for 
the   last  few   months  has   been  highly  agreeable  to   both  parties. 


HOTJ 


AV#f 


MY  MANSE  DURING  THE  WAR. 


LETTER  No.  I. 


Can  my  readers  become  interested  in  a  Manse  ?  Perhaps  they  may 
if  its  inmates'  tried  to  maintain  Christian  feelings  when  the  war  was  at 
its  cedar  gates.  Religion  alone  or  something  allied  to  it  ought  to  appear 
in  a  paper  professedly  religious.  Let  statesmen  manage  their  own  con- 
cerns ;  but  Moriah,  Olivet,  Tabor  and  Calvary  belong  to  us  who  are  the 
ministers  of  good-will  to  our  race.  Isaiah  says  that  the  feet  of  Proph- 
ets in  his  day  wefe  beautiful.  Why  so  ?  Because  their  sandals  were 
adorned  with  pearls  whenever  they  ascended  such  elevations  to  an- 
nounce glad  tidings. 

My  resolution  was  fixed  to  preach  the  Gospel,  and  only  the  Gospel, 
even  should  the  war  last  so  long  as  the  one  between  the  rival  Houses 
of  York  and  Lancaster,  which  for  thirty  years  desolated  England. 
What  havoc  did  it  everywhere  create  ?  Green  fields  faded  before  it, 
and  moors  became  more  dreary.  Meadows  and  downs  lost  their  smiles 
when  a  rude  soldiery  crushed  their  flowers  and  dispersed  their  flocks. 
Churches  too  shared  in  the  general  ruin.  Was  not  George  Fox,  of  Leices- 
ter, a  wise  man  in  his  opposition  to  all  war  ?  Was  not  Sully,  prime 
minister  of  Henry  Fourth,  equally  wise  when  he  sought  to  bind  all 
Europe  in  a  league  of  peace  for  a  hundred  years  by  way  of  experiment  ? 
And  what  a  Europe  would  it  have  been  at  the  end  of  that  century. 
Surely  Russia  would  have  been  less  barbarious,  and  Italy  would  have 
worn  a  sunnier  look.  The  Rhine  would  have  multiplied  its  grapes  and 
France  its  lilies.  Swiss  Cantons  would  have  become  still  more  pastoral, 
and  the  fleets  of  England  might  have  left  their  docks  on  errands  of 
peaceful  discovery.     But  let  me  keep  to  my  Hermitage. 

The  first  battle  of  Manassas  was  fought  on  a  Sabbath.  We  wish  that 
men-at-arms  would  choose  some  other  day  for  their  sanguinary  work. 
Waterloo  was  fought  on  the  day  of  sacred  rest.  It  might  as  well  have 
been  postponed  till  Monday.  Christians  may  die  on  Sunday,  but  pro- 
fane soldiers  had  better  fix  on  some  other  time  to  be  killed.  My  Hermitage 
was  full  of  refugees.  Mrs.  Commodore  Jones,  of  Sharon,  was  one  of 
them,  whose  delicate  health  made  her  exceedingly  nervous.  The  drama 
was  opened  early  in  the  morning  of  that  brilliant  day  in  July,  1861.  A 
neighbor  rode  by  my  house  in  great  haste,  with  a  spy-glass  fastened  on 
hie  shoulder,  through  which  to  peer  at  the  combatants.  Well :  if  it  had 
been  Wednesday  your  correspondent  would  have  staid  at  home,  but 
being  the  one  which  was  kept  holy  in  Eden,  the  vale  of  Hebron ;  in 
Shiloh,  and  by  Siloa's  brook — he  took  his  Bible  and  spent  the  sacred 
hours  between  sunrise  and  sunset  in  reading  of  Patriarchs,  Prophets, 
Apostles,  Martyrs,  and  of  Him  who  is  Lord  of  all.   That  Bible  must 


be  handed  down  to  some  one  as  an  heirloom.  It  was  presented  to  its 
owner  by  the  Christian  ladies  of  Greenwich  Church.  Paper  fine,  type 
capital,  and  well  suited  to  the  eye  of  a  Septuagenarian.  Don't  mind 
these  playful  allusions,  although  they  be  personal.  We  would  not  pos- 
sess the  ponderous  vanity  of  La  Martine  for  the  palace  of  St.  Cloud. 
About  sunset  my  Bible  was  closed.  It  was  time  for  our  evening  meal. 
In  1745  the  battle  of  Prestorpans  was  fought  near  a  Manse  in  the  Shire 
of  Haddington,  Scotland  :  and  certainly  one  and  a  half  a  score'  besides 
were  fought  near  mine  in  the  Shire  of  Prince  William,  Va.  We  say 
nothing  as  to  whose  banner  it  was  on  which  victory  perched,  because 
then  only  one  side  would  read  this  letter.  Many  a  traveler  knows  which 
way  the  tower  of  Pisa  leans ;  but  no  one  shall  find  out  my  leanings. 
That  evening  the  sun  went  down  superbly  beyond  the  Eidge,  to  the 
azure  tints  to  which  my  eye  has  been  fondly  attached  for  thirty  years, 
but  the  next  day  it  rained  and  kept  raining.  Plutarch  says  that  it 
always  pours  down  after  a  battle.  Showers  perhaps  are  sent  in  mercy 
to  wounded  soldiers.  We  retired  for  the  night  after  reading  at  the  do- 
mestic altar  the  lamentation  of  David  over  Jonathan,  for  we  felt  certain 
that  friends  had  fallen  to  rise  no  more  till  the  last  trump  shall  sound. 
What  is  the  bugle  of  the  warrior  compared  to  that  mighty  trumpet 
which  the  arm  of  Gabriel  alone  can  wield. 

For  nearly  a  year  after  the  battle  of  Manassas,  the  writer  continued 
to  officiate  to  his  people  at  a  distance  of  three  miles  from  the  Manse. 
The  congregation  was  composed  exclusively  of  Northern  families  who 
had  bought  lands  sixteen  years  ago  in  Pleasant  Valley.  Every  Sab- 
bath they  sent  a  carriage  for  their  minister,  and  there  could  be  no 
kinder  people.  But  in  the  confusion  of  the  country,  with  three  or  four 
exceptions,  they  concluded  to  return  to  the  North.  The  last  day  on 
which  service  was  held  was  one  of  sadness.  My  text  was  from  the 
Psalms :  "  By  the  rivers  of  Babylon  we  sat  down  and  wept ;  yea,  we 
wept  when  we  remembered  Zion."  And  now  the  kirk  is  solitary  and 
none  repair  to  its  solemn  feasts.  We  can  say  with  the  Prophet, 
"  Where  is  that  flock  thou  hast  given  me — that  beautiful  flock  ?"  Dis- 
persed in  the  whirlwind  of  war.  For  several  Sabbaths  many  of  the 
Federal  soldiers  attended  at  this  Church  and  demeaned  themselves 
with  reverence  in  the  sanctuary.  Some  of  them  were  professors  of  our 
holy  religion.  The  solitude  of  the  Manse  became  enlivened  by  stran- 
gers from  Otsego  Lake  ;  the  sources  of  the  blue  Juniata  ;  the  banks  of 
the  Monongehela  or  the  tangled  prairies  of  the  West.  Two  thousand 
in  all  though  not  at  one  and  same  time.  They  came  in  groups.  Many 
humorous  and  some  tragic  incidents  took  place  ;  but  the  former  might 
be  inappropriate  to  an  ecclesiastical  journal.  To  some  of  the  soldiers 
we  presented  a  variety  of  religious  tracts,  which  were  courteously 
received.  They  promised  to  give  them  a  faithful  reading.  Sometimes 
my  consort  would,  of  a  Sabbath  evening,  go  in  where  they  were,  read 
and  explain  a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  and  then  kneel  down  and  pray  for 
them  and  all  whom  they  had  left  at  home.  They  showed  deep  feeling. 
Some  of  them  said  we  will  remember  you  in  our  graves ;  but  we  reckon 


they  must  have  been  from  Ireland.  Among  them  were  officers  of 
'intelligence,  some  of  whom  were  fresh  from  their  respective  colleges. 
We  could  designate  Col.  Jones  from  Dartmouth,  and  Capt.  Wheeler 
from  New  Haven,  which  last  has  been  called  the  City  of  Elms.  Wheeler 
had  left  the  cloisters  of  science  for^the  pursuits  of  war,  and  the  groves 
of  learning  for  the  camp.  He  was  quite  colloquial ;  fond  of  the  piano 
and  thezether  ;  attended  Divine  service  at  my  house  ;  claimed  to  be  a 
collateral  relative  of  President  Edwards,  and  his  countenance  was 
always  arrayed  in  smiles.  He  fell  at  Atlanta,  in  Georgia,  leaving  a 
widowed  mother  at  New  Haven,  in  the  profoundest  grief  for  his  loss. 
Major  Makalone  was  from  Philadelphia.  Well  read,  and  a  Catholic. 
He  attended  service  at  the  Manse.  •  My  text  was,  "And  he  preached 
in  the  synagogues  of  Galilee."  He  was  mortally  wounded  in  the  battle 
of  Chickamauga,  when  about,  to  appear  at  the  nuptial  altar.  One 
heart  in  addition  to  his  own  was  stricken  into  sorrow.  But  we  cannot 
designate  that  diversity  of  persons  who  came  to  my  Hermitage  in  any 
shorter  space  than  that  of  a  decade  of  letters.  And  permit  me  to  say, 
that  some  of  the  incidents'  which  occurred  on  my  premises  were  fraught 
with  peculiar  interest,  but  they  will  be  reserved  for  some  future  time. 
We  must,  however,  allude  to  'poor  Hoskins,  who  fell  near  my  farm. 
He  Was  under  the  command  of  Mosby,  and  the  son  of  an  Episcopal 
minister  in  Kent  county,  England.  He  was  an  author,  and  had  served 
under  Garibaldi,  and  in  the  Crimea  under  Lord  Baglan.  Perhaps  he 
was  present  at  the  storming  of  the  Malakoff  Tower.  When  wounded, 
he  was  taken  to  the  kiosk  of  Charles  Green,  adjacent  to  Greenwich, 
who  was  a  native  of  Hailes  Ower,  Salopshire,  England,  but  last  from 
Liverpool.  There  he  received  the  kindest  attention ;  but  no  skill 
could  save  his  life.  We  laid  him  down  in  the  cemetery  of  the  village, 
and  his  father  has  sent  over  funds  to  rear  a  neat  tablet  to  his  memory. 
His  steed  had  scoured  the  «pins  of  Italy,  the  margin  of  the  Golden 
fcHorn  and  Canadian  snows,  but  he  met  his  end  among  the  larches  of 
Prince  William.  In  riding  by  our  sequestered  kirk  we  sometimes 
glance  at  the  grave  of  the  stranger  in  a  strange  land.  One  hot  summer 
afternoon,  a  Mississippi  soldier  was  brought  in  an  ambulance  to  my 
house.  He  was  very  sick,  and  in  a  few  days  he  died,  not  without 
resignation  to  the  Divine  will ;  for,  though  young,  he  had  been  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Church.  Twelve  of  his  comrades  were  detailed  to  attend 
the  funeral,  and  we  buried  him  in  a  clump  of  cherry  trees  near  the 
gate  of  the  Manse,  the  white  blossoms'  of  which  have  since  been 
sprinkled  on  his  mound.  After  the  second  battle  of  Manassas,  a  soldier, 
dangerously  wounded,  lay  about  five  miles  distant  from  my  dwelling. 
He  had  sent  to  the  writer  for  some  religious  books,  which  were  trans- 
mitted, together  with  a  Decade  of  Letters  about  Scottish  Manses,  by 
old  Peter  Bell,  published  in  a  Kichmond  paper.  We  rode  over  to  the 
Swiss-looking  village  of  Buckland  to  pray  with  the  stranger,  and  found 
him  sensible,  well-informed  and  affable.  He  was  pale  and  emaciated, 
but  by  gentle  nursing  he  slowly  regained  his  strength,  and  was  then 
put  in  a  hand-carriage  and  moved  to  and  fro  over  the  yard.     It  is 


something  to  be  drawn  by  ladies  for  a  team  ;  but  even  for  such  a  pro- 
menading,' the  writer  would  not  consent  to  welcome  a  minnie  ball* 
through  the  shoulder.  This  gentleman,  when  recovered,  went  back  to 
Charleston,  South  Carolina,  from  which  city  he  communicated  to  us  the 
pleasing  news  that  he  had  connected  himself  with  the  people  of  the 
Lord.  Perhaps  by  his  affliction  he  was  led  to  Him  who  received  not 
one,  but  five  wounds  for  our  transgressions,  and  by  whose  stripes  all 
returning  sheep  are  healed. 

But  the  question  may  be  asked  by  my  Methodist  Protestant  brethren 
was  your_  Manse  injured  by  the  war?  No  ;  from  the  last  advices  it  is 
still  erect.  Its  bees  are  still  riding  on  their  chariot  plants,  its  birds  are 
still  twittering  from  its  locust  boughs,  and  its  grassy  knolls  have  not 
been  stained  by  a  drop  of  blood.  We  told  the  knights  that  all  their 
passes-at-arms  must  be  enacted  outside  of  my  sylvan  walls,  for  they  are 
fit  for  nothing  but  to  be  scaled  by  squirrels  and  surmounted  by  wrens 
or  sparrows.  My  books  are  intact.  We  can  still  turn  over  volumes 
teeming  with  ancient  thought,  or  look  on  pictures  ambrotyped  from  the 
light  of  the  mediaeval  imagination.  We  have  quaint  Chaucer,  cornuco- 
pian  Spencer,  and  can  still  go  back  to  Eden  with  Milton  for  a  guide. 
Would  that  we  could  say  the  same  of  Ringwood,  my  once  happy  home, 
which  stands  about  five  miles  from  my  present  abode.  The  war  did  it 
no  good,  but  the  injury  will  soon  be  repaired.  Hope  so,  for  that  spot 
is  associated  with  thirteen  years  of  my  hermit  life,  where  morning  so 
often  chased  away  the  night,  and  evening  so  often  drew  its  pensive  star 
from  the  urns  of  the  sun.  Its  premises  have  been  repeatedly  sketched, 
and  it  gratifies  me  to  say  that  one  of  those  sketches  is  from  the  pencil 
of  a  Northern  soldier.  Nor  could  war  affect  its  mountain  views  which 
still  range  in  the  distance.  The  hues  of  the  Ridge  defy  the  sternest 
look  of  the  warrior,  be  he  Taric  the  Moor,  or  Hannibal  the  Carthage- 
nian.  The  Alps  regarded  the  tread  of  Napoleon,  and  the  Pyrenees 
that  of  Wellington  no  more  than  the  footstep  of  a  sauntering  goat.4 
There  stands  those  monuments  of  Divine  power,  and  there  will  they 
stand,  to  the  end  of  time.  But  one  morning  a  train  of  wagons  entered 
my  gate.  What's  to  pay  now,  thought  I.  They  had  come  to  forage, 
and  a  pair  of  officers  dismounted.  Major  Bell  was  the  spokesman. 
Have  you  any  oats  or  corn?  he  politely  inquired.  .Well,  Major,  I  re- 
plied, we  have  some  of  both,  though  my  farm  is  not  much  larger  than 
that  of  Cincinnatus  the  Roman,  or  of  Alcibiades  the  Greek,  and  this 
year  have  been  obliged  to  buy.  Our  horses  are  starving,  was  his  reply. 
And  so  are  mine  in  the  present  scarcity  of  grain.  They  are  so  reduced 
that  they  creep  along  like  snails  over  the  undulations  of  this  county, 
and  they  are  obliged  to  rest  under  the  old  oak  tree  between  this  and 
Greenwich  kirk.  You  see,  Major,  that  my  home  is  among  the  pines, 
and  here  is  a  burr  brought  me  from  Waterloo  near  Brussels.  'Tis  not 
so  large  as  some  of  my  cones.  My  interlocutor  seemed  quite  willing  to 
prolong  the  colloquy.  Some  time  since,  said  he,  I  was  passing  up 
Georgetown,  D.  C,  and  coming  to  a  Church  my  attention  was  struck 
by  a  sepulchral  tablet  in  the  wall  of  the  edifice,  and  it  occurred  to  me 


that  the  deceased  person  might  have  been  a  progenitor  to  the  one  of  the 
same  name  who  wrote  the  "  Picturesques"  in  Stockton's  Christian 
World.  My  immediate  progenitor,  I  replied,  and  his  father  came 
direct  from  Wales  to  Maryland.  But  where  did  you  read  the  Pictur- 
esques ?  In  the  far  West,  he  rejoined.  But  have  you  written  anything 
besides,  he  confined.  Do  you  see,  Major,  that  heap  of  manuscripts  on 
the  table.  They  contain  the  history  of  my  Times,  and  he  who  takes  my 
grain  will  find  an  ugly  niche  in  that  gallery.  Here,  to  cut  a  long  story 
short,  said  Lieutenant  Hill,  suppose  you  write  to  Gen.  King,  under 
whose  orders  we  act.  Agreed,  and  in  ten  minutes  the  letter  was  written 
and  sent  by  a  soldier.  When  the  messenger  returned  Lieutenant  Hill 
waived  off  the  teamsters  by  a  motion  of  his  hand.  Very  much  obliged 
to  Gen.  King.  He  was  a  Milwaukee  editor,  but  has  since  gone  to  Italy. 
Hope  he  will  experience  no  annoyance  from  the  lazzaroni  of  Naples,  the 
cardinals  of  Pome,  or  the  banditti  of  the  Appenines.  In  the  evening 
Major  Halstead  from  Newark,  New  Jersey,  who  was  one  of  Gen.  Augur's 
«taff;  rode  to  my  house  to  see  after  the  preacher.  Glad  to  hear  from  his 
father,  for  he  and  the  writer  were  well  acquainted  at  college.  The  son 
was  taken  prisoner  at  Cedar  mountain  in  Culpepper,  but  was  soon  ex- 
changed. 

■  During  the  blockade  it  was  very  difficult  to  procure  pens,  ink  and 
paper,  and  this  was  a  severe  trial  to  a  scribbler.  My  dilemma  was 
made  known  to  Lieutenant  Hill,  who  brought  me  eight  quires  of  that 
precious  article  letter  press.  How  warm  were  my  thanks.  Col.  Mann 
sent  me  up  from  his  camp  a  bottle  of  very  dingy  ink,  and  Lieutenant 
Brockway  gave  me  a  couple  of  pens  with  gutta  percha  holders.  The 
last  mentioned  officer  was  from  the  vale  of  Wyoming,  but  he  had  trav- 
eled along  the  Andes.  His  conversation  was  interesting.  But  most 
unfortunately  one  of  the  glasses  of  my  spectacles  fell  out  on  the  floor  of 
the  Manse.  A  sad  tribulation,  comforted,  however,  by  remembering 
that  Generals  Taric  and  Kutersoff  had  each  lost  an  eye.  In  this  emer- 
gency Dr.  Donnelly,  who  was  from  Ireland,  came  to  my  house.  He  had 
lived  in  Brazil  where  he  had  fallen  in  with  the  "  Lusiad  "  of  Camoens, 
of  which  he  intended  to  publish  a  new  translation.  He  asked  me  about 
Mikle  who  rendered  that  Epic  into  English.  He  was,  I  replied,  the 
son  of  a  Scotch  minister  who  preached  at  Langholm  in  Dumfrieshire. 
The  translator  went  to  Lisbon  on  mercantile  business ;  but  afterwards 
returned  to  Forest  Hill  in  Oxfordshire,  England,  where  he  resided,  and 
where  Milton  was  first  married.  Thank  you,  he  remarked,  for  the 
information ;  and  on  my  return  from  the  city  of  fraternal  love  you  shall 
own  a  new  pair  of  spectacles.  The  Doctor  made  good  his  promise,  and 
on  his  leaving  us  he  begged  my  consort  to  remember  him  in  her  prayers. 
A  coincidence  :  My  son  Chalmers  was  carried  to  the  old  Capitol ;  but 
bearing  the  name  of  an  illustrious  Scotch  divine,  he  was  released  in  a  few 
days  and  sent  round  to  Richmond.  He  was  moneyless,  nor  were  his 
garments  white  as  the  snow  of  Salmon.  In  Richmond  a  stranger  whose 
name  was  Selden,  proved  a  friend  in  need.  It  is  somewhat  remarkable 
that  precisely  on  the  same  day  and  at  the  same  hour  in  which  Selden 


was  befriending  him  that  Selden's  son,  half  famished,  rode  to  my  door 
and  asked  for  breakfast.     His  appetite  was  keen. 

An  editor  looks  askance  at  a  long  article.     Ergo  :     It  may  be  well  to 
close  at  least  for  the  present. 


LETTER  No.  II. 


In  a  previous  letter  mention  was  made  of  several  incidents  that  took 
place  on  my  premises  during  the  war  which  has  just  been  brought  to  a 
close.  It  is  admitted  that  these  incidents  are  not  sufficiently  dignified 
to  challenge  the  pen  of  the  'historian,  but  if  not  of  the  grand  and  in- 
structive kind,  they  may  serve  at  least  to  amuse  your  readers.  To  such 
as  have  been  already  stated,  suffer  me  to  add  a  few  more,  which  shall  be 
told  in  the  most  unpretending  way.  They  are  detailed,  not  to  express 
any  political  proclivities,  but  simply  to  promote  the  reign  of  good  feel- 
ing ;  and  for  this  reason  no  offence  can  be  given  to  either  Jew  or  Gentile. 
These  papers  may  be  innocently  read  either  by  proud  Castilians,  or  by 
the  knights  of  Morocco.  Garrick  introduced  Hannah  More  to  the 
acquaintance  of  John  Home.  The  one  had  written  the  tragedy  of  Doug- 
las and  the  other  that  of  Percy,  and  the  great  actor  playfully  remarked, 
that  now  the  Douglas  and  the  Percy  had  shaken  hands,  he  hoped  the 
fight  in  the  Cheviot  Hills  would  be  forgotten.  Amen,  responds  the 
occupant  of  the  Prince  William  Manse.  There  is  a  sterness  in  the,  fol- 
lowing couplet  which  occurs  in  the  Lay  of  the  last  Minstrel,  quite 
uncongenial  to  my  taste  : 

So  \on%  as  Ettrick  holds  the  Scott, 
Shall  feudal  war  ne'er  be  forgot. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  Confederate  army  under  Johnston, 
lay  at  Centreville  and  Manassas  during  the  winter  of  1861  and  1862, 
and  some  of  the  soldiers  came-  to  keep  Christmas  at  my  house.  At  such 
a  period  of  distress  they  could  not  have  expected  the  luxuries  which 
used  to  be  common  at  that  joyful  season.  In  olden  times  Christmas  was 
kept  at  Branksome  Hall,  or  Kenilworth  Castle,  in  a  mirthful  way.  Chief- 
tans  and  their  liegemen  indulged  in  what  is  called  wassail.  Soldiers, 
said  I,  tippling  would  be  something  very  inappropriate  to  a  Manse,  but 
we  are  not  without  some  coffee,  a  berry  of  which  Napoleon  was  fond. 
At  present  it  is  unimportant  whether  it  come  from  Mocha,  Java,  or  Bra- 
zil, provided  it  only  be  coffee.  But  have  you  any  Louisiana  sugar  ?  said 
Corporal  Draper.  No  :  but  we  have  some  West  India  saccharine  ;  and 
'bowls  of  coffee  are  better  than  mugs  of  wine.  W,e  can  trim  our  fires, 
give  you  some  music  on  the  zether,  which  will  remind  us  of  the  Tyrolese 
Alps ;  and  we  can  read  to  you  Milton's  hymn  on  the  Nativity,  Cowper's 
Winter  Evening  in  the  Country,  or  the  Scotch  ballad  called  the  Battle 
of  Bothwell  Bridge,  or  the  Braes  of  Yarrow,  by  Hamilton  of  Bargour. 
We  can  furnish  you  with  corncob  pipes  and  send  you  off  to  beds  soft  as 


the  down  of  the  Gothland  duck.  Well,  for  a  time  like  this,  replied  the 
corporal,  you  can  do  more  for  us  than  we  expected.  Our  guests  enjoyed 
themselves  for  a  few  days,  when  they  decamped  from  my  house  and 
returned  to  their  shabby  tents.  The  Manse  then  resumed  its  usual 
serenity,  and  became  just  as  quiet  as  the  Warkworth  hermitage  in  the 
Shire  of  Cumberland,  which  has  been  celebrated  in  the  ballads  of  Percy, 
who  was  Dean  of  Carlisle  :  but  subsequently  Bishop  of  Dromore,  in  Ire- 
land. But  now  the  lady  of  the  Manse  was  in  a  fix.  Some  socks  had 
been  previously  sent  to  an  Alabama  soldier  who  was  stockingless.  He 
had  written  to  express  his  thankfulness,  but  added  that  in  taking  aim 
at  the  Yankees  he  would  always  think  of  his  benefactress,  and  this  was 
just  the  thing  which  the  lady  did  not  desire.  She  remembered  who 
had  said,  thou  shalt  not  kill ;  and  she  did  not  send  the  socks  as  a  promp- 
ter to  heroic  deeds.  Such  tenderness  of  conscience  is  worthy  of  all 
respect.  Both  Ney  and  Murat  were  in  fifty  battles,  and  each  of  them 
declared  that  he  was  unconscious  of  ever  having  killed  a  man.  Byron 
used  to  wonder  what  were  the  feelings  of  a  homicide.  Bad  enough,  my 
lord  of  Newstead  Abbey,  though  the  writer  does  not  say  so  from  per- 
sonal experience.  The  creed  of  the  writer  about  war  is  the  same  with 
that  of  William  Penn.  War  is  an  unlawful  game,  and  for  this  reason 
we  do  not  envy  the  inventors  of  Colt's  revolver,  Burnside's  pistol  or 
Dahlgren's  gun.  Men  die  fast  enough  without  new  implements  of  death. 
But  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  say  that  the  Alabama  soldier  on  receiving  a 
note  from  the  lady,  withdrew  his  resolve  to  kill  any  body  for  her  sake. 
It  is  presumed  therefore  that  if  he  slew  any  one,  it  was  done  on  his  own 
account  or  from  patriotism — but  patriotism  is  nowhere  commanded  in  the 
Bible.  That  Book  was  not  made  for  France,  England  and  Austria,  but 
for  the  world.  So  thought  Soame  Jenyns,  who  from  a  deist  became  a 
Christian,  because  he  could  not  find  in  Holy  Writ  any  command  to  love 
England  better  than  Greenland,  Labrador  or  Tartary.  We  think  as 
Soame  thought,  and  hope  that  no  offence  will  be  taken  at  our  thoughts. 
The  reader  must  not  forget  that'  in  the  spring  of  1862,  General 
McDowell  advanced  into  Virginia  with  quite  a  numerous  force,  as  high 
as  Bristoe  in  Prince  William.  Johnston  had  fallen  back  to  Gordons- 
ville,  and  eventually  in  the  direction  of  Yorktown.  His  reasons  for 
this  movement  are  too  obvious  to  need  even  a  word  in  the  way  explana- 
tion. Plis  rear  guard  passed  us,  and  a  young  lady  in  our  vicinity,  wrote 
some  very  pretty  lines,  suggested  by  the  sight  of  that  guard.  Falling 
back  is  always  a  damper  to  troops ;  but  still  they  looked  sprightlier 
than  the  rear  guard  of  Ney  when  he  left  Moscow  for  the  Beresina.  The 
object  of  the  Illinois  General  was  to  cover  Washington  and  to  aid  Mc- 
Clellan ;  but  a  diversion  was  made  in  his  plans  by  the  movements  of 
Jackson  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley.  These  papers,  however,  are  not 
graduated  on  a  military  scale.  Whilst  McDowell  lay  in  the  vicinity  of 
Bristoe,  he.  was  visited  by  a  snow-storm,  quite  unusual  in  our  latitude 
for  the  month  of  April.  The  violets  had  everywhere  dotted  the  woods, 
but  the  cowslips  and  buttercups  were  buried  beneath  mounds  of  snow. 
Their  streaks  were  lost  to  the  eye  and  their  fragrance  neutralized  on 


10 

the  vernal  air.  '  It  was  a  wintry  scene.  The  tents  of  the  army  were 
cheerless.  The  men  could  not  sleep,  and  permission  was  given  them  to 
spread  themselves  through  the  country,  and  they  rushed  out  in  search 
of  better  accommodations.  The  rooms  of  the  Manse  were  crowded. 
They  were  not  brought  there  by  the  bugle  of  Roderick  Dhu  or  Malcolm 
Greame,  but .  by  the  horn  of  winter,  which  was  howling  rather  than 
winding  along  the  azure  ridge.  The  men  occupied  every  inch  of  space 
except  my  chimney  nook,  and  that  would  not  have  been  given  up  to 
Wellington  without  a  fight.  Seated  in  my  old  arm-chair,  no  one  dared 
to  dispute  its.  possession.  Dominie,  said  one  of  the  soldiers,  can  you  tell 
us  what  all  this  muss  is  about  ?  Certainly,  said  I,  if  you  will  hear  me 
patiently  during  an  hour,  for  the  causes  of  the  muss  run  back  to  the 
year  of  our  Lord  1789.  But  mark  me,  you  are  not  to  know  my  politics 
from  the  dissertation.  They  listened  with  an  attention  entirely  respect- 
ful. Among  my  audience  was  a  chaplain  who  was  from  Troy,  N.  Y.,. 
and  it  gave  me  pleasure  to  hear,  through  him,  of  Dr.  Snodgrass  of  that 
city,  who  was  my  fellow-student  at  the  Princeton  Seminary.  The  chap- 
lain afterwards  lost  a  limb  in  the  war,  and  was  sent  to  the  Alexandria 
Hospital.  He  will,  no  doubt,  use  crutches  in  ascending  the  pulpit. 
We  wish  him  well,  for  during  his  stay  at  my  house  he  went  to  camp, 
and  brought  me  ten  pounds  of  sugar  and  ten  of  coffee.  The  soldiers 
were  apparently  serious  at  family  worship,  but  the  weather  broke  and 
they  all  dispersed.  One  of  them  was  named  Abbot :  he  lingered  longer 
than  the  rest,  and  was  extravagantly  fond  of  music.  Glad  to  hear  that 
he  was  no  way  connected  with  a  person  of  the  same  name  who  wrote 
the  Life  of  Bonaparte,  a  production  which  has  pleased  many  women 
and  children. 

A  few  days  after  the  above  momentous  events,  a  Federal  soldier  rode  in 
hot  haste  to  the  door  of  the  Manse.  He  refused  to  alight.  Understand, 
said  he,  that  you  have  three  mocking  birds,  to  sell  at  ten  dollars  a  piece. 
When  leaving  Wisconsin,  my  mother  made  me  promise  to  send  her  some 
Virginia  birds,  that  imitated  the  note  of  all  other  birds.  Your  price 
will  be  freely  given.  Your  filial  affection  is  worthy  of  admiration,  I 
replied,  and  we  wish  well  to  the  good  old  Wisconsin  lady,  but  really 
my  aviary  is  very  scantily  furnished  at  present.  I  am  no  Audubon, 
and  have  not  a  wren,  sparrow  or  hummer  for  sale.  It  was  clear  that 
the  man  did  not  believe  me,  for  he  went  about  peering  into  every  tree 
and  examining  into  empty  cages.  But  his  scepticism  finally  gave  way 
before  his  own  examination,  and  he  rode  off,  not  without  muttering  his 
discontent.  It  then  occurred  to  me,  that  being  April,  some  one  in  the 
way  of  merriment  had  given  the  man  a  useless  tramp  of  five  miles.  Or 
perhaps  the  solution  of  the  affair  may  be  as  follows :  Three  young 
ladies  at  the  Manse,  and  one  of  them  a  refugee,  had  played  in  succes- 
sion the  little  Alabama  song  called  the  Mocking  Bird.  The  three  were 
called  up ;  and  young  ladies,  said  I,  we  hold  each  of  you  at  the  rate  of 
.a  billion  of  dollars,  but  you  have  been  put  down  at  the  low  figure  of  ten 
•apiece.  They  were  quite  amused.  We  suspected  Hill  who  wore  the 
straps  of  an  officer,  and  we  charged  on  him  the  sending  of  the  man  to  my 


11 

domicile.  Was  he  simple  enough  to  come  ?  he  inquired,  and  laughed. 
Poor  Hill,  he  had  been  at  war  among  the  Aztecs,  and  had  fought  his 
way  up  and  down  to  the  Halls  of  the  Montezumas.  He  was  badly 
wounded  at  Bull  Run  Bridge,  and  reduced  to  a  fraction  at  Antietam, 
so  that  he  left  the  army.  Let  us  not  judge  men  by  appearances.  His 
exterior  was 'not  prepossessing,  but  he  is  a  generous  and  high-minded 
man.  He  took  out  a  gold  piece,  amounting  to  two  dollars  and  fifty 
cents,  and  divided  it  among  the  servants.  He  offered  pay  for  his  ac- 
commodation wherever  he  went.  He  was  anxious  to  get. home  that  he 
might  see  Frank,  his  little  son.  At  prayer  we  remembered  little  Frank, 
and  the  father  seemed  much  affected.  He  was  surprised  that  a  South- 
ern minister  would  pray  for  a  Northwestern  child,  but  we  told  him  that 
a  Pagan  had  uttered  the  sentiment — I  am  a  man,  and  nothing  is  alien 
to  me  that  appertains  to  humanity,' and  surely. a  Christian  ought  not  to 
b.e  surpassed  by  a  Roman.  We  wish  well  to  Hill,  he  is  a  sensible  sol- 
dier. He  liked  to  mix  among  men  far  better  than  among  flowers,  for 
his  imagination  was  not  very  arabesque.  On  taking  leave  of  us,  he  re- 
marked with  deep  feeling  :  Young  ladies,  if  you  will  educate  Frank, 
he 'shall  be  here  directly  after  the  peace  ;  and  we  were  surprised  at  his 
desire  to  give  his  son  a  Southern  training.  Now  these  incidents  may 
appear  trifling  to  the  reader,  but  he  ought  to  remember  that  these 
papers  are  not  the  history  of  the  great  big  war  that  convulsed  the 
country.  They  are  simple  affairs,  that  took  place  in  my  immediate 
vicinity  and  beneath  my  personal  notice,  and  therefore  the  recital  of 
them  can  be  tolerated,  even  if  they  be  not  approved. 

•It  looked  strange  to  see  a  quiet  home  in  Prince  William  filled  up  in 
part  with  Danes,  Swedes  and  Russians ;  and  it  is  remarkable  that  they 
stood  the  cold  no  better  than  the  Confederates.  In  extreme  latitudes 
men  seldom  leave  their  stoves.  Even  St.  Petersburg  is  shut  up  all 
winter,  and  for  this  reason,  when  Russians  venture  out  in  a  more 
moderate  climate  they  become  chilly.  Tis  true  the  Cossacks  pursued 
Napoleon,  but  vindictive  feeling  against  the  man  kept  them  warm,  and 
in  the'  chase  of  him  they  were  going  south.  The  Swedes  talked  of 
Jenny  Lind,  and  of  Augustus  Adolphus,  the  great  champion  of  Pro- 
testantism. The  Danes  had  little  to  say  about  Tycho  Brahe,  for  they 
did  not  understand  his  astronomy.  The  Russians  knew  something  of 
Peter  the  Great,  but  nothing  about  Pushkin,  their  poet,  who  foolishly 
lost  his  life  in  a  duel.  There  was  quite  a  diversity  of  temperament 
among  my  numerous  guests.  Some  were  garrulous  and  other  taciturn ; 
some  sullen  and  others  easily  pleased  ;  some  grave  and  others  merry ; 
some  lazy  and  others  would  hitch  up  my  team  and  bring  in  a  cord  of 
wood  in  a  hurry.  Captain  Caldwell,  from  Dartmouth  College,  in  New 
Hampshire,  was  constitutionally  excitable,  but  even  with  him  a  soft 
answer  could  turn  away  wrath.  He  is  a  scholar,  and  his  memory,  if 
he  be  still  alive',  is  very  retentive.  In  fact,  Christian  meekness  can 
keep  down  the  quills  of  a  porcupine  in  our  intercourse  with  the  world. 
Among  the  Northerners  was  a  man  whom  his  comrades  called  Jersey. 
We  could  not  ascertain  whether  or  not  he  was  from  that  island  in  the 


12 

English  Channel,  but  he  was  last  from  Brooklyn.  After  leaving  my 
house,  we  heard  that  my  friend  Jersey  had  behaved  badly;  but  the 
report  was  false,  for  Lieutenant  Hoysradt,  who  called  on  us  after  the 
battle  of  Gettysburg,  told  me  that  he  had  distinguished  himself  in  that 
affair.  The  Confederates  had  captured  one  of  the  Federal  standards 
and  borne  it  away ;  but  Jersey  rushed'  into  the  thickest  of  the  fight, 
and  the  standard  was  re-taken.  For  this  deed  he  was  promoted  on  the 
spot.  The  writer  cannot  determine  the  exact  number  of  soldiers  who 
came  to  the  Manse  during  that  April  snow-storm.  They  amounted  to 
an  inundation ;  but  in  an  overflow  of  the  Nile  the  minarets  of  the 
Delta  are  everywhere  visible  to  the  Egyptians,  and  it  was  my  business 
to  ask  them  about  their  Churches,  and  bring  into  view  the  steeples  of 
their  sacred  edifices.  Leslie,  the  Provost  Marshal,  was  then  at  my 
house.  His  name  indicated  that  he  was  Scotch.  He  had  come  from 
Balmoral  in  the  Shire  of  Aberdeen,  near  to  which  place  Queen  Victoria 
has  a  palace,  and  in  its  vicinity  Prince  Albert  used  to  shoot  grouse. 
As  General  Ewell's  residence,  called  Stony  Lonesome,  was  on  the  hill 
that  overlooked  my  premises,  Leslie  very  kindly  took  an  .  ambulance 
and  brought  the  General's  books  to  my  house.  They  were  preserved 
in  that  way,  for  some  soldiers  think  no  more  of  Homer's  Iliad  than  of 
the  History  of  Tom  Thumb,  or  of  the  splendid  creations  of  Sir  W. 
Scott  than  of  Lilworth's  spelling  book.  When  the  General  was  told  of 
this  fact,  he  was  peculiarly  gratified.  But  short  articles  are  more 
coveted  at  present  than  those  that  are  long. 

We  are  happy  to  acknowledge  the  general  accuracy  of  your  printing. 
But  permit  me  to  say  that  the  concluding  sentence  of  my  previous  let- 
ter needs  correction.  You  call  my  son  Chambers  instead  of  Chalmers, 
and  my  manuscript  stood  as  follows  :  But  bearing  the  name  of  an  illus- 
trious Scotch  divine  he  was  released  in  a  few  days.  Some  of  your 
readers  have  accused  me  of-  calling  myself  an  illustrious  divine.  No  ! 
no  :  the  writer  is  nothing  but  a  shady  divine. 


LETTER  No.  III. 


"  Home — sweet  home."  This  is  the  title  of  a  song  which  was  written 
by  my  friend  Howard  Payne.  He  was  a  bachelor,  and  never  knew  the 
charm  of  domestic  life.  ^  After  wandering  late  and  long,  he  died  in 
Algiers.  A  petition  was  sent  to  the  Government  that  his  remains  might 
•be  brought  from  Africa  to  the  United  States,  and,  as  the  hurly-burly 
war  is  over,  we  hope  the  wishes  of  his  friends  may  be  gratified.  This 
song  was  hummed  on  the  way  from  Washington  to  my  Manse.  After 
a  long  detention  in  that  city,  by  the  illness  of  Mrs.  Genl.  Macomb,  how 
refreshing  is  a  sight  of  the  Blue  Ridge. 

A  writer  should  always  be  judged,  by  what  he  professes  to  execute. 
In  these  papers  the  reader  need  not  expect  the  movement  of  great 
armies,  or  the  recital  of  closely  contested  battles.     Such  things  are 


13 

freely  handed  over  to  our  historians,  whilst  the  writer  proceeds  with 
his  present  unambitious  task,  which  is  to  add  a  few  incidents  to  those 
already  stated.  These  small  affairs  took  place  both  with  Federals  and 
Confederates,  and  in  telling  them  we  must  keep  in  mind  that  narrow 
pass  in  which  Jonathan  surprised  the  Philistine  garrison.  It  had  a 
sharp  rock  on  the  North,  and  one  equally  sharp  on  the  South :  but  the 
writer  hopes  to  get  through  without  giving  offence,  that  in  all  things 
the  Ministry  be  not  blamed. 

•The  following  incident  is  abont  a  little  dog  whose  name  is  Bruto. 
On  the  morning  that  Gen.  Ewell  left  for* the  war,  the  writer  went  over 
to  his  residence  to  bid  him  adieu.  It  was  a  distance  of  five  hundred 
yards  from  my  own  dwelling.  His  brother  committed  the  diminutive 
creature  to  the  keeping  of  my  son,  and  a  remarkable  attachment  grew 
up  between  the  parties.  His  temporary  owner  could  not  stroll  to  my 
gate  without  being  accompanied  by  the  dog.  He  followed  him  wherever 
he  went,  and  was  with  him  on  the  evening  he  was  captured  and  taken 
to  Washington.  Bruto  returned  after  night,  and  we  concluded  that  his 
master  would  soon  make  his  appearance.  But  he  did  not,  for  he  was 
safely  lodged  in  the  Carroll  House.  The  dog  was  disconsolate,  and  for 
several  days  refused  every  kind  of  nourishment,  constantly  looking  in 
the  direction  where  his  master  was  taken.  When  the  prisoner  returned 
the  canine  affair  could  not  suppress  its  joy.  Till  then  the  writer  never 
tolerated  dogs.  It  was  enough  to  know  that  they  would  bite.  Byron's 
attachment  to  his  Newfoundlander  was  set  down  as  a  piece  of  affecta- 
tion, and  the  St.  Bernard  stories  as  humbug.  We  had  heard  of  their 
protecting  children,  and  that  they  had  discovered  murders,  and  how 
they  had  defended  Grampian,  Pentland  and  Fyrenean  shepherds,  but 
we  regarded  all  this  as  gammon.  But  in  future  we  must  entertain  a 
better  opinion  of  the  canine  species.  When  convicted  of  an  error,  that 
error  ought  to  be  confessed. 

The  curiosity  of  the  Federals  who  came  on  my  premises,  was  intense. 
It  extended  to  the  garden,  carriage-house,  cistern,  and  kitchen.  They 
peered  about  the  walls  of  the  Manse.  What  is  this?  said  one  of  them, 
who  came  from  the  Knickerbocker  city.  That  is  a  sketch  of  the  Cat- 
skill  mountains  which  run. through  several  counties  of  New  York,  and 
you  ought  to  have  known  it  at  sight.  They  seemed  pleased  at  our  hav- 
ing any  thing  contiguous  to  Sleepy  Hollow.  But  mark  me,  said  I,  the 
two  peaks  of  the  Catskill,  as  measured  by  Captain  Partridge,  are  not  so. 
high  as  those  of  Otter  in  the  Blue  Kidge.  Virginia  must  not  yield  .in 
its  scenery  to  the  land  of  the  Gothamites.  And  what  is  this  ?  said  another 
of  my  guests.  A  picture  of  Evangeline,  I  replied,  drawn,  no  doubt, 
from  fancy.  Fancy  might  have  made  the  heroine  of  Nova  Scotia  or 
Acadia  much  handsomer  than  she  appears  in  that  representation.  By 
whom  was  it  executed?  he  rejoined.  By  Mrs.  Ewing  of  Orange  county 
— not  in  New  York,  but  Virginia.  And  what  is  this?  said,  a  third 
soldier.  A  view  of  my  native  town,  which  lies  on  the  north  banks  of 
the  Potomac.  It  holds  the  Manse  once  occupied  by  my  Sire.  But  to 
prevent  any  further,  guessing,  it  occurred  to  me  to  become  a  kind  of  • 


14 

cicerone  to  the  little  ornaments  of  my  cottage :  This  is  a  sketch  of 
Lake  Como  in  Italy,  and  one  of  the  stone  buildings  on  its  margin.  It  was 
presented  by  a  lady  who  came  to  Virginia  from  near  Woodstock,  in 
Oxford,  England,  together  with  many  other  pieces  of  English  scenery, 
and  among  them  Tintern  Abbey  on  the  Wye.  And  here  is  a  Swiss 
cottage  sent  me  by  Prosinger  who  emigrated  from  Munich  in  Bavaria. 
And  here  is  a  bust  of  Petrarch,  from  Florence,  and  of  Boscoe,  from  Liv- 
erpool ;  and  here  is  a  branch  of  palm  from  the  tomb  of  Paul  and  Vir- 
ginia in  the  island  of  Mauritius ;  and  here  is  a  staff  from  the  Moluccas : 
and  lastly,  as  the  schedule  is  s&newhat  tedious,  here  is  a  large  picture 
of  my  small  self.  What,  said  Major  Jones,  do  you  preach  in  gown  and 
bands?  No;  but  the  likeness  was  taken  by  Mason,  a  young  artist  of 
Snow  Hill,  who  died  at  an  early  age.  He  worked  under  the  instiga- 
tion of  a  bachelor,  who  was  not  without  some  predilection  for  clerical 
dress,  and  as  his  money  paid  the  artist,  it  was  not  my  province  to  inter- 
fere with  his  fancy.  The  black  gown  is  not  amiss,  but  we  should  have 
rebelled  against  the  white  surplice,  because  it  is  both  Jewish  and  Papal. 
Hope  the  reader  will  not  regard  me  as  a  virtuoso,  like  Horace  Walpole 
of  Strawberry  Hill. 

The  blockade  became  more  and  more  tightened.  The  want  of  leather 
was  general.  My  shoes  were  all  down  at  the  heel.  My  thoughts 
about  sandals  were  quite  intense.  The  Bard  of  the  Seasons  wanted  a 
pair  of  shoes  on  the  soles  of  which  to  pace  the  footways  of  London. 
The  window  in  Pembroke  College  is  shewn  to  this  day  out  of  which  Dr. 
Johnson  tossed  a  couple  of  hobnail  commodities.  And  Josephine,  when 
going  from  Martinique  to  France,  wanted  a  pair  for  her  daughter  Hor- 
tense.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  To  superintend  farming  operations  in 
my  stockings  was  rather  awkward.  We  could  not  walk  to  the  gate, 
the  spring  or  the  meadow.  But  after  a  noon  of  lamentation,  a  pretty 
twilight  fell  round  the  Manse,  and  a  lonely  horseman  was  approaching 
my  door.  His  name  was  Alexander,  tie  was  not  a  combatant,  but  an 
engineer.  He  was  of  Scotch  descent,  and  on  a  visit  to  Washington, 
had  just  fallen  in  with  the  chief  of  his  clan,  to  whom  he  renewed  his 
homage.  Dismount,  I  said,  and  pass  the  night.  Some  of  your  men 
have  just  brought  me  several  pounds  of  coffee.  Could  not,  he  replied. 
But  here's  a  pair  of  shoes ;  try  if  they  will  fit.  They  fit  exactly,  was 
my  answer.  You  guessed  well  at  my  measure.  He  rode  away  very 
briskly,  for  he  had  come  five  miles  from  his  camp.  But  during  the 
whole  war,  night  was  turned  into  day  and  day  into  night.  Nor  was 
this  all  the  good  fortune  which  befel  the  Manse  about  this  time :  for 
hearing  of  my  shoeless  feet,  Commissary  Bundy  sent  me  a  pair  of  boots, 
and  Col.  De  Luc  a  pair  of  sandals  with  silk  strings.  The  Colonel  was 
of  French  extraction,  and  hailed  from  St.  Paul,  on  the  east  banks  of  the 
Mississippi.  He  talked  a  great  deal  about  the  laughing  waters  of 
Minnesota,  and  shewed  me  some  ambrotypes  of  the  aquatic  scenery,  of 
which  he  was  so  fond.  He  was  a  lawyer,  and,  of  course,  a  special 
pleader  for  his  State.  But,  Colonel,  said  I,  look  yonder.  That  is  the 
line  of  the  Blue  Ridge ;  and  though  your  country  be  undulating,  it 


15 

holds  no  such  mountain  as  the  one  now  in  sight.  That  elevation  is  full 
of  cool  fountains  and  fragrant  leaves.  Here  the  confab  ended,  but  he 
gave  me  an  Oration  which,  had  just  been  delivered  in  Boston,  by  0.  W. 
Holmes,  and  upon  which  he  requested  some  critical  remarks.  They 
were  prepared  and  sent  down  to  camp  by  a  Northern  soldier,  who  rode 
as  express.  It  was  a  good-natured  piece  of  criticism,  with  a  request 
that  it  might  be  forwarded,  not  to  the  Czar  of  all  the  Russians,  but  to 
the  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table.  The  Colonel  took  all  in  good 
part,  for  on  the  next  Sabbath  he  was  in  the  church  at  my  house,  and 
heard  a  sermon  from  that  blessed  petition,  give  us  this  day  our  daily 
bread. 

Paper  at  present  is  uncommonly  scarce,  as  you  will  see  from  the 
scraps  on  which  this  communication  is  written.  Perhaps  some  of  your 
readers  may  be  glad  of  the  fix  we  are  in,  because  it  has  shortened  this 
letter.  But  we  hope  for  a  supply  after  my  return  from  our  Synod, 
which  meets  at  Lynchburg,  in  sight  of  the  Otter  Peaks.  They  will 
look,  we  fear,  less  inviting  than  usual  in  their  Autumnal  dress.  For 
the  present,  adieu. 


LETTER  No.  IV. 


One  evening  my  third  daughter  was  riding  from  the  Federal  camp. 
She  -was  accompanied  by  a  servant :  but  a  young  officer  rode  up  and 
desired  the  privilege  of  seeing  her  safely  home.  He  would  listen  to  no 
expostulation.  He  was  told  that  he  might  be  captured  on  the  way,  and 
then  she  would  be  charged  with  decoying  him  into  danger.  But  the 
young  knight  persevered,  for  he  had  come  from  the  smoke  of  Pittsburg, 
and  his  sight  must  have  been  rather  dim.  The  party  reached  the  Manse 
some  time  after  twilight,  and  rode  quite  briskly  up  to  the  kitchen. 
Since  the  absence  of  the  young  lady,  three  Confederate  soldiers,  all 
armed  cap-a-pie,  had  arrived  on  my  premises  with  the  purpose  of  spend- 
ing the  night.  They  were  in  the  parlor,  the  door  and  windows  of  which 
were  open,  for  it  was  summer,  and.  the  moon  was  throwing  its  reflections 
into  the  room  which  they  occupied.  We  heard  distinctly  the  tramping 
of  the  horses  as  they  approached  our  culinary  establishment.  My  con- 
sort withdrew  with  the  quickness  of  an  Irish  fairy  or  a  Devonshire 
pixie,  and  in  a  hurry  warned  the  young  man  of  his  critical  situation. 
But  he  had  lost  the  points  of  the  compass,  for  the  Avoods  through  which 
he  had  come  were  exceedingly  dense.  Which  way  lies  my  camp  ?  asked 
the  bewildered  knight.  Don't  know,  said  the  lady,  being  myself  a 
keeper  at  home ;  but  my  son  is  one  of  the  Confederates,,  and  my  creed  is 
that  the  rites  of  hospitality  are  more  sacred  than  the  laws  of  war.  But 
no  talking.  At  that  she  ran  with  a  footstep  quite  elastic  for  a  lady  of 
sixty-two,  and  beckoned  out  the  young  soldier.  Gulielmi,  said  the 
mother,  this  young  man  asks  you  to  go  with  him  a  mile,  but  go  with 
him  twain.     Don't  mind  your  arms ;  but  trust  to  his  honor.     Were  he 


16 

to  harm  you  he  would  be  a  fiend,  whereas  he  seems  to  be  a  gentleman. 
So  he  escaped  :  and  who  would  not  skedaddle  sooner  than  to  go  to  the 
Libby  or  Fort  Warren.  He  wore  a  sabre  which  he  took  off,  because  of 
its  dangling.  If  he  call  for  it  the  weapon  can  be  restored.  Gainer  by 
this  affair  one  sabre,  but  my  anxiety  to  keep  it  is  not  very  great :  for 
they  who  take  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword.  Was  it  right  to 
save  him  ?  Yes ;  for  he  was  performing  an  act  of  civility,  and  my  politics 
shall  never  outrun  my  chivalry.  We  choose  to  be  polite,  and  taking  men 
prisoners  is  a  very  clownish  business.  The  young  man's  name  was  Easton, 
and  wa,  mention  names  for  fear  the  reader  may  look  upon  these  inci- 
dents as  fictions  instead  of  realities.  But  permit  me  to  mention  an 
incident  somewhat  resembling  the  above,  although  its  termination  was 
not  quite  so  happy.  Another  daughter  went  over  to  the  Federal  camp 
to  make  a  few  purchases.  She  was  introduced  to  Gen.  Meade,  who  was 
a  kind  of  an  American  Creole,  for  he  was  born  in  Spain,  probably  at 
Madrid  on  the  Manzenarez.  His  father  was  Minister  to  the  Court  of  that 
city.  When  the  fair  daughter  of  Eve  was  about  leaving  his  tent,  the 
General  called  an  officer,  and  ordered  him  to  guard  the  lady  home.  No, 
General,  said  the  lady,  he  may  be  sent  to  Belle  Isle  before  you  see  him 
again.  Not  the  least  danger,  was  the  reply  ;  but  in  passing  a  clump  of 
woods  out  came  two  Confederates  ;  but  being  one  to  two,  the  officer 
wisely  surrendered.  The  lady  protested,  but  little  did  the  captors  care 
for  the  tongue  of  a  woman.  But  scarcely  had  the  prisoners  reached 
Richmond  before  a  letter  stating  the  circumstances  was  forwarded  to 
the  Hon.  James  A.  Seddon,  at  that  time  Secretary  of  War.  He  imme- 
diately searched  for  the  young  man,  and  having  found  him,  ordered  his 
release.  The  pen  is  sometimes  more  powerful  than  the  sword.  Arrests 
were  frequent.  On  a  beautiful  summer  evening,  a  gentleman  from  New 
Hampshire  by  the  name  of  Snow,  was  driving  me  home  from  the  Church 
in  which  the  writer  had  just  been  officiating.  Wishing  for  a  little  pe- 
destrian exercise,  he  dropped  me  a  half  a  mile  off  from  my  house,  and 
was  returning  in  his  chariot  when  he  was  met  by  some  Confederate  cav- 
alry and  sent  to  Manassas,  and  from  thence  to  Richmond.  We  wrote  to 
Gen.  Beauregard  in  his  behalf,  and  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Hoge  of  Richmond : 
and  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  say,  that  in  three  weeks  he  was  set  at  lib- 
erty. This  gentleman  knows  how  to  bear  the  frowns  of  fortune.  He 
owned  property  in  New  York,  but  it  was  consumed  by  fire.  He  then 
bought  a  farm  in  Prince  William ;  but  in  consequence  of  the  war,  not  a 
plank  is  left,  either  of  his  barn  or  dwelling.  He  then  purchased  a 
steamer  to  ply  between  Washington  and  Alexandria,  but  it  was  sunk 
into  the  Potomac.  He  then  entered  into  the  coal  business  on  the  Chesa- 
peake and  Ohio  canal,  but  Mosby  captured  all  his  mules.  Will  any 
one  doubt  that  he  is  possessed  of  a  brave  heart  and  that  decision  of 
character  of  which  Foster  has  so  eloquently  written. 

One  bright  afternoon  three  Confederates  rode  up  to  my  yard.  They 
dismounted,  but  instead  of  coming  into  the  Manse,  they  laid  themselves 
down  in  the  shade  of  some  locust  trees,  where  they  fell  into  a  sleep  as 
sound  as  was  that  of  Gulliver's  in  Laputa.     All  the  previous  night  they 


17 

had  been,  scouting.  Sleep  has  been  eulogized  by  Dr.  Young,  and  we 
only  wish  that  the  repose  of  these  knights  could  have  been  witnessed 
by  the  Bard  of  Welwyn.  Soldiers  should  be  on  their  guard.  Saul 
went  to  sleep  in  a  Hebrew  cave,  and  lost  in  that  way  the  skirt  of  his 
garment,  but  our  knights,  Martin,  Smith  and  Boteler,  came  near  the 
loss  of  their  lives.  We  have  heard  of  the  Three  Graces ;  the  three 
witches  on  the  Forres  Moor ;  of  the  three  wise  men  of  Gotham,  but  this 
triple  group  were  not  very  sagacious  in  slumbering  when  they  should 
have  had  wide  open  the  hundred  eyes  of  Argus.  For  who  is  this  run- 
ning from  the  kitchen  and  laying  her  ebony  hands  on  the  three  sleepers 
and  shaking  them  to  pieces,  and  crying  out — they  are  coming  !  they  are 
coming  !  It  was  a  servant  woman  who  had  descried  fifteen  Federals 
descending  the  slope  of  a  hill,  and  spurring  steeds  that  were  flecked  in 
foam.  They  were  commanded  by  Lieutenant  Littlefield,  and  a  John 
Gilpin  race  was  commenced.  The  knights  sprung  to  their  saddles 
sooner  than  they  coul'd  whistle  Jack  Robinson.  They  cleared  the  bars 
of  my  fence — crossed  a  brook  which  flowed  through  a  holm — ascended 
a  hill,  and  though  not  killed,  buried  themselves  in  the  woods.  In  the 
meantime  the  Federals  lost  ground  by  taking  down  instead  of  leaping 
the  bars.  As  no  mischief  was  done  we  enjoyed  the  chase.  When  the 
Lieutenant  returned,  the  lady  of  the  Manse  expressed  her  satisfaction 
that  his  men  had  not  fired.  We  thought  your  son  of  the  Black  •  Horse 
was  one  of  the  three,  he  replied.  We  only  wanted  to  tuck  them  away 
into  Fort  Delaware.  Poor  Littlefield.  He  was  a  meritorious  young 
man,  but  in  a  few  weeks  afterwards  he  was  taken  sick  with  the  camp 
fever  and  died  in  Washington,  far  away  from  his  Northwestern  home. 
Towards  night  the  Confederates  returned  in  search  of  a  bag  of  oats  they 
had  left  in  their  flight,  and  which  the  Federals  had  overlooked.  They 
were  supplied  with  milk,  and  let  me  advise  the  reader  to  enter  into  a 
long  rumination  on  the  usefulness  of  the  cow.  Like  Dr.  Jenner,  of 
Gloucester,  England,  the  writer  often  leans  over  the  bars  of  the  cowpen 
to  think  of  his  vaccine  discovery,  for  which  Parliament  voted  him  ten 
thousand  pounds,  when  they  ought  to  have  given  him  ten  times  the 
sum.  And  as  men  will  go  to  war  in  contrariety  to  his  opinions,  the 
writer  is  not  sorry  that  Morgan  whipped  Tarlton  at  the  battle  of  the 
Cowpens.  This  letter  is  sufficiently  brief  to  suit  the  most  scrupulous 
editor.  There  is  at  present  a  scarcity  of  paper  in  Old  Prince  William, 
though  the  county  be  named  in  honor  of  a  Dutch  King.  We  hope  to 
procure  a  supply.  A  paper-mill  might  be  useful  at  present  in  this  part 
of  the  Old  Dominion. 


LETTER  No.  V. 


It  is  not  pleasant  to  deprive  books  of  their  blank  leaves,  but  what 
scribbler  will  fail  to  do  this  should  he  be  pushed  for  paper?  It  was 
done  by  Addison  and  Pope.  Why  not,  then,  by  the  occupant  of  a 
dwelling  hid  in  the  woods,  and  far  away  from  towns,  where  paper  is 


18 

sold?  Throughout  the  war,  the  Manse  was  subject  to  calls  both  by  in- 
dividuals and  companies.  My  feelings  were  quite  interested  in  young 
Allston,  who  sojourned  awhile  at  my  house.  He  was  without  a  horse, 
but  subsequently  obtained  a  very  superior  one  in  a  raid.  He  was  brave 
to  a  fault,  but  we  exceedingly  doubt  whether  bravery  be  a  virtue. 
Were  all  men  destitute  of  this  quality,  would  there  or  could  there  be 
any  fighting  ?  Before  the  Fall,  Adam  and  Eve  were  gentle  as  a  pair 
of  doves  skipping  along  the  walks  of  Eden.  War  was  one  of  the  evils 
which  came  into  the  world  with  the  loss  of  our  original  innocence.  We 
ought  therefore  to  oppose  it  under  all  circumstances  if  we  ever  expect 
to  recover  in  the  Second  what  was  lost  in  the  First  Adam.  But  a  word 
or  two  about  my  young  friend,  for  he  did  not  seem  to  have  been  more 
than  nineteen  years  of  age.  He  was  born  in  Ireland,  but  was  taken 
when  a  boy  to  the  city  of  Hereford,  in  the  west  of  England,  which  is 
situated  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Wye.  In  coming  from  Hereford,  I 
remarked,  you  come  from  the  birth-place  of  the  celebrated  Garrick. 
Dr.  Johnson  said  of  him,  that  he  promoted  the  gaiety  of  nations,  but 
nations  need  to  be  solemn  rather  than  gay,  especially  in  time  of  war. 
All  traditions  of  him,  he  replied,  have  died  out  in  Hereford,  but  he  is 
still  spoken  of  in  London.  The  confidence  with  which  my  young  friend 
replied,  convinced  me  that  he  was  quite  intelligent.  I  have  caught 
trout  in  the  Wye  and  the  Severn,  he  continued,  and  have  gone  in  my 
boat  as  high  as  the  Shire  of  Montgomery.  Then  you  have  been  at 
Ludlow  wood  and  Ludlow  castle  ?  Yes,  and  the  wood  is  still  green, 
but  the  castle  is  brown  with  age  and  stern  in  its  ruins.  My  skiff  could 
touch  at  Ohepston,  Tintern  Abbey,  or  the  town  of  Ross,  where  lived 
John  Kyrle,  the  good  old  bachelor.  -  The  trees  he  planted  in  Ross  are 
still  erect.  Have  been  up  the  Welsh  rivers  and  over  the  rough  mount- 
ains of  the  principality,  but  always  glad  to  see  Hereford  again,  for 
absence-  only  sweetened  home.  What  bait  did  you  use  in  angling? 
Anything,  he' answered,  that  resembled  a  fly,  and  like  Sir  Humphrey 
Davy,  we  could  make  a  bait  out  of  the  feathers  of  the  peacock.  ■  And 
what  induced  you  to  leave  such  juvenile  pleasures  for  the  scenes  of 
war  ?  We  heard,  he  replied,  that  there  was  a  great  fuss  in  your  country, 
and  we  concluded  to  cross  the  sea  and  help  the  Confederates,  who  were 
thought  in  England,  to  be  the  weaker  party.  The  conversation  of  this 
soldier  was  instructive,  but  he  was  captured  in  the  battle  of  the  Wil- 
derness. His  comrades  in  arms  have  taken  special  pains  to  ascertain 
his  fate  ;  and  the  conjecture  is  that  he  died  either  in  prison  or  in  a 
hospital,  at  Richmond.  If  so,  he  will  never  again  behold  the  coral 
reefs  of  England.  There  is  a  bare  possibility,  however,  that  he  may 
have  returned  to  Hereford,  the  city  from  which  he  came. 

A  soldier  from  Minnesota.  He  had  been  taken  prisoner,  but  the 
squad  by  whom  he  was  captured,  not  wishing  to  lose  time  in  going  to 
Richmond,  paroled  him  on  the  spot.  He  was  a  Frenchman,  and  we 
asked  him  to  sing  the  Marseilles  hymn  in  the  language  in  which  it  was 
written.  With  this  request  he  immediately  complied.  It  stirred  my 
heart  like  a  trumpet ;  but  after  ten  minutes  reflection,  the  military  fire 


19 

fell  down  to  zero.  Who  would  repudiate  his  books  for  one  of  Sharp's 
rifles  or  a  Dahlgren  gun  ?  Certainly  no  civilized  man  would  be  guilty 
of  such  folly.  The  Frenchman  was  quite  anxious  to  acquire  the  pro- 
nunciation of  our  language,  and  we  set  him  to  reading  a  volume  of  my 
manuscript  sermons.  You  do  slap  now  and  ten  at  the  Pope,  he 
remarked,  as  he  went  on  with  his  task.  Its  a  part  of  my  religion,  I 
replied,  never  to  spare  the  old  man  of  sin.  Dat  is  right,  he  answered, 
for  de  French  be  not  dependent  on  de  Vatican.  Napoleon  III.  supply 
him  .wid  de  bayonets  because  he  want  him  to  feel  his  great  dependence. 
Are  there  many  of  the  frog-eating  nation  in  Minnesota  ?  Good  many — 
good  many  do  go  from  Montreal ;  but  de  priests  do  not  like  de  going, 
for  de  Methodists  do  catch  de  Catholics  as  de  French  do  catch  de 
frogs,  and  de  priests  are  left  in  de  Church.  In  the  lurch,  you  mean. 
Dat  is  right,  he  said,  in  de  lurch.  De  priests  have  to  fry  some  fish. 
No  ;  you  mean  that  the  priests  have  other  fish  to  fry  than  going  after 
those  that  the  Methodists  catch  !  Dat  is  right,  for  mineself  have  seen 
how  de  priests  do  grab  all  dey  can  get.  Have  you  had,  I  asked,  any 
hair-breadth  escapes  in  the  war  ?  One,  he  answered,  that  do  deserve 
mention.  Mineself  was  under  de  apple  tree,  and  a  shell  come  at  de 
tree  and  de  apples  fall  down  and  bruise  mine  head,  and  where  de  shell 
did  explode  lift  up  mine  haversack  way  up  in  de  air,  and  cut  up  de 
haversack  to  pieces.  And  what  became  of  the  apples  ?  I  did  eat  up 
de  apples,  for  in  de  heat  of  de  battle  one  great  tirst  did  come  to  mine 
mouth.  Now,  said  I,  you  must  quit  your  de,  dey,  mineself,  tirst  and 
all  such  things,  for  the  English  is  a  manly,  language.  You  must  read 
my  manuscripts  for  one  month,  and  your  pronunciation  must  be  cor- 
rected as  you  proceed.  This  proposition  was  agreed  to,  and  the  French- 
man improved  surprisingly  under  my  tuition.  He  began  to  talk  like  a 
man  instead  of  chattering  like  a  monkey. '  He  gave  me  the  outlines  of 
Minnesota — its  undulations,  St.  Paul's,  the  Falls  of  St.  Antony,  the 
prairies  and  their  interior  lakes.  He  imitated  the  barking  of  the 
prairie  dogs,  which  was  very  amusing.  These  little  creatures,  how- 
ever, are  greatly  lessened  in  numbers  since  Lewis  and  Clarke  explored 
the  Missouri  in  1805.  My  guest  had  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  a  good 
education  among  the  Jesuit  priests  of  Canada.  We  went  over  to  King- 
Wood,  and  took  a  sketch  of  my  former  home,  and  attended  the  meeting 
of  Presbytery  at  Greenwich,  near  my  residence,  and  was  much  pleased 
with  a  discourse  from  the  pastor  of  the  Second  Presbyterian  Church  of 
Alexandria.  His  name  is  Oliver  Barry,  but  written  by  himself  Olivier 
Barre.     We  wish  him  well  in  the  future. 

A  third  soldier  arrived  at  the  Manse.  He  was  from  Philadelphia. 
He  was  sick,  and  his  disease  was  clearly  cf  the  pulmonary  type,  and  of 
course  he  was  unfit  for  servce.  His  name  was  Pullen,  and  we  nursed 
him  as  well  as  we  could  in  the  famine  produced  by  the  war.  In  a  week 
he  partially  recovered,  and  went  out  to  enjoy  the  shade  of  my  yard. 
We  looked  up  and  saw  a  Confederate  soldier  from  Abbeville,  South 
Carolina,  by  the  name  of  Guffin,  riding  Jehu-like  to  my  dwelling  with 
a  Burnside  pistol  in  his  hand.     Pullen,  said  I,  throw  up  your  arms  in 


20 

token  of  surrender.  We  then  took  Guffin  aside,  who  immediately 
wrote  him  a  parole  which  was  witnessed  by  myself,  as  my  sign  manual 
was  known  to  several  persons  in  Washington.  When  he  left,  we  walked 
with  him  a  mile,  and  he  offered  me  a  greenback,  amounting  to  what 
Barry  would  call  five  dollar.  Don't  keep  an  inn,  I  remarked,  but  my 
beau  ideal  has  always  been  to  keep  one,  and  talk  to  travelers  whilst 
my  man  Jess  should  attend  to  the  horses.  Why,  you  heap  coals  of 
fire  on  my  head.  No,  you  mistake  the  meaning  of  that  text.  When 
we  are  kind  to  an  enemy  the  kindness  makes  the  recipient  heap  the 
coals  on  *  his  own  head.  Hope  that  they  will  not  scorch  your  fingers. 
When  you  get  home,  present  me  to  your  wife  and  children.  That  I 
will,  he  replied,  and  send  you  some  Harper's.  So  do ;  but  not  the 
numbers  containing  Abbott's  Life  of  Napoleon.  These  Manse  reminis- 
cences will  be  continued. 


LETTER  No.  VI. 


The  waiter  was  standing  one  day  at  the  door  of  the  Manse  looking  at 
two  of  his  horses  grazing  on  a  hill  just  above  Cat  Tail  Run,  which  emp- 
ties into  a  broader  stream,  called  Kettle  Run.  What  names  for  a  pair 
of  pretty  brooks  winding  through  velvet  savannahs !  Dr.  Johnson, 
however,  was  very  fond  of  his  cat,  and  Cowper  of  his  kettle.  We  are 
therefore  reconciled  to  the  names ;  but  not  to  what  took  place  on  Arrel- 
ton  Hill.  Some  Federal  soldiers  started  the  animals,  and  there  was 
quite  a  chase  and  a  race.  The  horses  knew  that  their  owner  had  given 
them  as  good  nubbins  as  his  crib  could  afford,  and  were  therefore  op- 
posed to  being  taken  prisoners.  They  liked  Cat  Tail  water,  as  it  would 
have  been  called  by  the  Scotch,  but  poor  things,  they  were  noosed — 
lassoed — bridled — captured  and  borne  away  over  the  very  stream  at 
which  they  had  so  often  slaked  their  mouths.  Like  the  renowned  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,  your  correspondent  determined  to  take  everything  in  good 
humor,  for  otherwise,  the  sun  might  have  gone  down  on  his  wrath. 
The  pillow  often  soothes  displeasure,  and  the  next  morning  we  sent  the 
following  good-natured  note  to  the  officer  in  command : 

Colonel  : — Yesterday  a  squad  of  your  men  took  off  a  couple  of  my  horses.  One  of 
them  is  cream-colored,  like  the  steed  that  Washington  rode  at  Yorktown  in  1781,  and 
the  other  a  bright  sorrel,  like  one  mentioned  in  the  Arabian  Nights.  Please  consult 
Blackstone  on  the  mighty  difference  between  meum  and  tuum.  Possession  is  nine  out 
of  twelve  points  of  the  law,  and  therefore  you  have  no  moral  or  military  right  to  Fan 
and  Reuben.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  use  either  of  them  in  making  a  raid  on  your 
camp.  A  Presbyterian  minister  must  not  turn  soldier  as  if  he  were  a  Romish  Pontiff. 
One  of  the  animals  is  a  pony  that  carries  my  corn  and  wheat  to  Langley's  mill,  and 
you  must  not  forget  that  Henry  Clay  was  a  millboy.  With  the  going  down  of  the 
sun,  let  me  see  both  my  steeds  in  their  own  fragrant  clover  fields,  and  the  vesper 
beams  of  the  orb  of  day  will  reflect  renewed  lustre  on  your  deeds.  Permit  me  to  sub- 
scribe my  middle  name,  in  the  hope  that  your  sense  of  justice  will  be  in  full  flower. 

T.  Bloomer  Balch. 

Who  took  this  note  to  camp  ?     We  were  obliged  to  employ  the  daugh- 
ters of  Eve  as  our  plenipotentiaries,  because  their  tongues  are  so  much 


21 

more  reserved  than  those  of  gentlemen.  A  very  discreet  young  lady 
and  a  pedestrian  offered  to  go  on  the  errand.  She  found  the  horses  all 
packed  for  travel,  and  about  moving  for  the  Eappahannock.  Unpack 
those  horses,  said  the  heroine  ;  they  belong  to  one  who  lives  in  a  Manse, 
and  were  you  to  take  a  hawthorn  bud  out  of  a  Scottish  Manse,  the  Cold- 
stream guards  who  figured  at  Waterloo  would  be  up  and  at  you.  The 
Colonel  caught  the  tones  of  her  voice  and  hurried  to  the  muss.  Colonel, 
said  she,  read  this  epistle,  and  then  tell  me  to  ride  back  this  pony  like 
a  Virginia  Die  Vernon.  The  Colonel  reading.  Who  wrote  this  note  ? 
My  sire.  Then  your  sire  must  be  an  odd  fish,  for  he  commands  a  mili- 
tary man,  instead  of  asking  a  favor.  ■  He  commands  you,  Colonel,  to  do 
to  others  as  others  ought  to  do  to  you.  That's  all.  What  favor  is  it  to 
restore  his  own  ?  Aristotle  so  teaches  and  so  does  the  Decalogue,  as' 
expounded  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Let  the  pendulum  of  your 
determination  swing  itself  to  the  side  of  justice  and.  all  will  be  well. 
Take  your  horses,  said  the  gallant  Colonel,  and  as  we  are  breaking  up 
■our  cantonment,  take  home  anything  we  leave.  The  last  was  done  ac^ 
cording  to  Gunter.  Gainer  by  the  temporary  absence  of  my  steeds, 
three  water  buckets  bound  in  brass  hoops ;  four  brooms,  the  sight  of 
which  made  me  shudder ;  one  mug,  one  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  one 
arnbfotype  of  Napoleon,  which  should  have  been  sent  to  Abbott  rather 
than  to  the  owner  of  the  Blue  Ridge  Manse.  Thus  ended  the  adven- 
ture of  the  horses,  and  on  getting  back,  Reuben  ranged  as  proudly  as  ■ 
did  the  war-horse  of  Wellington  after  the  affair  at  Waterloo. 

It  gives  me  pleasure  to  record  some  of  the  generous  actions  of  the 
Federals.  Let  me  tell  the  following :  Corporal  Finlan  was  passing 
my  house.  He  was  called  in  and  offered  a  cup  of  milk.  Where  do 
you  come  from,  corporal  ?  From  about  Meansville,  he  replied,  on  the 
east  bank  of  the  Susquehanna,  Bradford  county,  Pennsylvania.  That 
county,  I  rejoined,  may  have  been  named  from  the  town  of  Bradford- 
on-Avon  in  the  English  shire  of  Wilts.  Not  posted  up  in  such  things, 
said  the  corporal.  He  went  on  his  way.  Two  or  three  weeks  had 
gone  by,  when  the  writer  was  aroused  one  dreary  night,  about  twelve 
o'clock,  by  some  one  fumbling  at  the  door  of  the  Manse.  Who  comes 
there,  I  called  out,  with  a  stentorian  voice.  A  friend,  was  the  reply. 
We  opened  the  door  and  Finlan  entered.  Some  fresh  combustibles 
were  put  on  the  fire.  Quite  an  unseasonable  hour,  he  remarked. 
Couldn't  elude  my  pickets  till  late,  or  our  officers  who  were  scouting. 
Lost  my  way  and  strayed  off  to  an  old  field ;  encountered  dogs ; 
asked  the  way  to  your  house  ;  have  found  it  at  last.  As  there  are  lots 
of  Presbyterians  in  Bradford,  have  brought  you  some  notions.  At  that 
he  opened  his  haversack  and  out  rolled  a  baker's  dozen  of  Northern 
apples,  and  as  many  of  golden  oranges.  Here,  too,  is  some  sugar,  tea 
and  coffee,  and  fifteen  papers  of  Anderson's  solace,  and  enough  gazettes 
to  keep  you  reading  for  a  week.  Finlan,  said  I,  go  up  and  take  a  bed. 
No  !  must  be  back  at  camp.  At  this  the  lady  of  the  Manse  made  her 
appearance.  You  don't  go  without  a  bowl  of  coffee,  one  for  you  and 
one  for  the  Dominie.     And  none  for  yourself ?     No;  not  at  this  hour 


22 

of  the  night.  And  so  we  two  sipped  our  coffee  and  piped  away  on 
Anderson's  weed.  lie  rose  to  go.  Stop,  said  I,  here's  a  greenback  to 
reward  you  for  your  pains.  None  of  it,  none  of  it,  he  answered,  and  he 
hurried  away.  We  hope  that  all  minnies,  shells,  balls,  pistols  and 
sabres,  spared  the  life  of  that  man,  and  that  he  was  welcomed  home  by 
his  Bradford  friends. 

When  Gibbon,  the  deist,  was  writing  the  History  of  the  Koman 
Empire,  he  was  employed  on  an  objective  task,  or  one  outside  of  him- 
self ;■  but  when  he  wrote  his  Memoirs,  he  was  subjectively  employed. 
Sorry  to  make  myself  the  subject  of  these  papers.  Can't  help  it;  for 
shall  the  writer  be  mum  when  others  are  talking  or  asleep ;  when 
others  are  awake  or  lazy ;  when  others  are  active.  We  will  go  on  with 
incidents  in  which  my  lilliputian  self  bears  a  part.  The  writer  one 
Sabbath  afternoon  was  occupying  his  arm-chair,  superior  as  it  is  to  the 
one  owned  by  Gay  the  poet,  and  musing  on  that  cloud  of  war  which 
was  expanding  itself  more  and  more  in  dark  folds  over  the  land.  A 
young  man  of  eighteen  entered.  From  what  point  of  the  compass  do 
you  come  ?  Richland  District,  South  Carolina.  Very  well,  then  ;  you 
probably  know  something  of  Dr.  Thornwell  of  Columbia,  whom  it  was 
my  good  fortune  to  meet  in  the  Presbyterian  General  Assembly,  which 
convened  at  Richmond,  in  1847.  My  father,  the  youth  replied.  Was 
he  well  when  you  left  Columbia  ?  At  that  he  took  from  his  pocket- 
■  book  an  obituary  notice  of  the  Doctor,  of  whose  decease  the  writer  was 
ignorant,  for  armies  bar  out  both  joyful  and  distressing  intelligence. 
My  father,  rejoined  the  son,  would  have  studied  his  eyes  out  had  he 
lived.  Then,  I  replied,  he  would  have  been  like  Homer,  Milton, 
Ossian,  Saunderson  and  Prescott.  It  is  not  well,  however,  to  be  over- 
bookish  even  to  work  our  way  into  such  a  distinguished  group.  Too 
many  books  are  one.  but  no  books  at  all  are  another  extreme,  and  you 
must  pass  between  the  extremes  if  you  would  learn  to  think.  Just 
then,  two  additional  young  men  entered  the  parlor.  Their  names 
turned  out  to  be  Logan  and  Bowie,  who  were  comrades  of  Thornwell. 
Are  you  connected,  said  I,  to  the  first,  with  a  Scotch  minister  of  your 
name  who  preached  in  South  Leith,  near  Edinburgh  ?  My  sire,  he 
replied,  is  a  minister  in  South  Carolina,  and  his  ancestors  were  Scotch. 
Then  here  is  a  little  memoir  of  the  South  Leith  Logan,  which  can  be 
read  in  thirty  minutes.  He  wrote  several  beautiful  hymns  and  the 
Braes  of  Yarrow';  but  everybody  seems  to  have  written  about  those 
Braes.  And  are  you  the  son  of  a  minister?  said  I,  to  Bowie.  Only 
the  grandson,  he  replied,  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Coffin,  President  of  Greenville 
College,  in  East  Tennessee.  Knew  him  well,  and  officiated  for  him  in 
1818,  at  Greenville,  on  the  French  Broad.  Happy  to.  return  his  hos- 
pitality in  the  person  of  his  representative.  He  was  from  Newbury- 
port,  Massachusetts,  on  the  Merrimac,  and  became  the  pioneer  of  learn- 
ing to  the  valleys  of  the  South-west.  Now,  then,  young  gents,  take 
notice.  We  four,  including  myself,  are  sprung  from  ministers,  and  as 
such  we  must  behave  ourselves  throughout  the  war  like  Cristians.  In 
came  Sparks  from  Louisiana,  who  before  the  war  was  preparing  for  the 


23 

ministry.  Great  office  that  to  which  he  looked.  Our  fathers,  where 
are  they,  and  the  prophets,  do  they  live  forever  ?  The  next  day  my 
guests  took  their  leave  of  the  Manse,  but  alack,  alack,  two  of  them  fell 
in  skirmishes.  Sparks  on  the  farm  of  the  widow  Bedine,  and  Thorn- 
well  at  Lindon,  near  Warrenton  Junction.  We  heard  the  pistol 
which  laid  Thornwell  low.  After  his  wound  he  was  taken  to  a  hospital 
in  Alexandria,  where  he  received  the  kindest  attention  from  the  friends 
of  his  father.  The  lady  of  the  Manse  wrote  to  Mrs.  Thornwell  detail- 
ing the  circumstances  connected  with  the  fall  of  her  son,  and  received 
a  reply  which  evinced  the  anguish  of  a  mother's  heart.  We  are  com- 
manded to  weep  with  all  who  weep.  Oh!  Pagan  Mars,  what  sad  deeds 
have  been  enacted  in  thy  name. 

Eode  to  the  Federal  camp,  and  was  introduced  to  General  Howard, 
from  Augusta,  in  Maine.  The  town  is  on  the  Kennebec,  the  navigation 
of  which  is  interrupted  by  the  Tetonic  falls.  The  General,  however, 
was.  not  very  romantic  about  cascades.  He  had  lost  his  right  arm  in 
the  battle  of  Seven  Pines,  but  had  since  learned  to  scribble  with  his 
left.  We  sat  at  his  tent  door,  not  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  but  some  time 
after  the  sun  had  passed  his  meridian.  How  glorious  he  is  on  his  noon- 
■  day  line,  but  how  lovely  when  he  bestows  his  tints  on  cloud  and  woods, 
or  when  he  inserts  them  into  the  arch  of  the  rainbow.  We  were  glad 
to  find  that  the  General  was  a  professor  of  religion,  and  that  he  some- 
times addressed  his  men  on  topics  of  vital  importance.  We  discussed 
at  large  the  state  of  the  country,  and  it  was  clear  that  my  interlocutor 
wanted  to  find  out  my  leanings,  but  he  was  baffled  in  all  his  efforts.  He 
told  me,  unequivocally,  that  he  doubted  the  propriety  of  a  Christian's 
going  to  war.  'We  pointed  his  attention  to  the  faith  of  Centurians  as 
.  mentioned  in  the  Gospels ;  but  remarked  at  the  same  time  that  the 
responsibility  in  making  war  was  thrown  not  on  them,  but  on  the  Caesars 
of  Rome.  Tools  are  not  to  answer  at  the  great  day,  but  they  who  em- 
ploy the  tools.  Not  the  invincible  guard,  but  Napoleon  who  created 
that  guard.  Just  at  that  moment  a  soldier  stepped  up  to  the  tent,  and 
asked  me,  Are  you  the  author  of  the  Ringwood  Discourses  ?  'Tis  so  said, 
was  my  reply.  Read  them  down  in  Maine.  He  disappeared.  Who 
can  tell  which  way  a  book  will  travel  when  published.  It  may  go  to 
China  or  Peru,  to  Juan  Fernandez  or  Tahiti.  A  legless  soldier  then 
came  for  the  purpose  of  asking  the  General  to  make  him  a  sutler.  Very 
well,v  said  the  General,  but  be  on  the  look  out  or  Moseby  may  get  your 
goods  and  chattels.  Understand,  said  Major  Balloch,  that  you  have 
been  in  Newburyport.  In  1819,  I  replied,  and  preached  six  times  over 
the  dust  of  Whitfield.  Then  don't  ride,  said  he,  till  we  get  you  some 
Java.  And  Major,  please  add  to  it  an  ounce  of  the  hyson  and  a  thim- 
bl'efull  of  white  sugar.  The  writer  then  rambled  home,  beneath  an 
evening,  in  the  presence  of  which  Tintoretto  would  have  dropped  his 
pencil  in  despair.     For  the  present,  adieu. 


24 

LETTER  No.  VII. 


In  my  last,  mention  was  made  of  General  Howard,  and  in  the  present 
letter  it  is  my  wish  to  say  something  to  his  credit.  The  village,  or 
rather  the  hamlet  of  Greenwich  stands  more  than  two  miles  from  the 
Manse.  'Tis  on  a  hill,  and  commands  a  fine  view  of  the  Bull  Run  ;  but 
we  wish  that  the  mountain  had  a  less  homely  name.  Its  environs 
abound  in  oak  and  pine.  It  has  a  Swiss  cottage,  built  by  Charles  Green, 
who,  in  winter,  resides  in  Savannah,  Georgia,  and  who  brought  me  some 
poppies  from  the  villas  of  Cicero  and  Pliny.  His  residence  is  shaped 
like  the  houses  of  Helvetia.  On  the  southern  edge  of  Greenwich  stands 
another  kiosk,  reared  by  another  Savannah  gentleman,  whose  name  is 
Sorrel,  a  native  of  one  of  the  Carribean  islands,  perhaps  Martinique. 
At  the  Northwest  of  the  settlement  is  a  cottage  which  was  occupied  by 
an  English  lady  from  Liverpool,  England,  who  once  was  a  member  in 
the  Church  of  Dr.  Raffles,  a  relative  of  Sir  Thomas  Raffles,  who  intro- 
duced so  many  reforms  into  the  berry  island  of  Java.  Her  cottage  was 
called  "  Leasowes,"  in  honor  of  Sherstone's  grounds  near  Hagley  Park, 
Worcester,  England.  Upon  the  breaking  out  of  the  war  she  went  to 
Canada,  and  her  home  was  occupied  by  a  gentleman  whose  name  was 
Jourdan.  There  were  two  Churches  in  Greenwich — one  Free,  and  the 
other  Presbyterian.  The  Free  was  of  plank,  and  the  other  of  brick. 
The  plank  one  perished  in  the  war ;  but  the  brick  is  still  standing  a 
monument  of  religious  taste,  and  uninjured  in  the  hurricane  of  civic 
strife.  Jourdan  was  taken  prisoner  by  McCabe  and  sent  to  several 
prisons.  He  reached  home,  but  soon  after,  died.  McCabe  was  killed 
near  Richmond.  Sorrel's  Kiosk  was  burnt.  But  what  connection  has 
all  this  with  the  humanity  of  General  Howard?  We  thought  that  the 
reader  would  like  to  know  the  locality  at  which  a  military  court  was 
convened  for  the  trial  of  seven  deserters  from  the  Federal  army.  It 
was  a  solemn  time.  The  lives  of  six  were  saved,  and  the  Maine  General 
exerted  himself  to  save  the  seventh,  but  all  in  vain.  The  culprit  was 
taken  out  a  solitary  victim,  and  under  the  fire  of  twelve  men,  he  fell 
over  into  his  grave  in  the  rear  of  the  Presbyterian  Church.  Not  wish- 
ing to  hear  the  fatal  shot,  the  writer  wandered  away  from  the  Manse 
into  the  very  centre  of  our  densely-matted  pines.  What  was  the  use, 
thought  I,  of  killing  that  one  man.  To  prevent  desertion.  Why,  in 
his  dying  speech  he  earnestly  exhorted  his  comrades  to  desert.  Four 
or  five  were  shot  near  Brandy  Station,  and  for  a  week  afterwards  refu- 
gees from  the  army  were  streaming  by  my  house.  At  all  events,  the 
culprit  was  launched  into  eternity  in  a  moment,  for 

Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust, 
Was  never  spoken  of  the  soul. 

A  man  at  the  bars.  He  seemed  loth  to  advance,  but  he  need  not 
have  been  afraid  of  dogs,  for  Gen.  Ewell's  terrier  was  just  as  harmless 
as  the  lap-dog  of  Josephine  the  Empress,  or  Madame  Sevigne,  the  letter 


25 

writer.  We  went  towards  him  that  his  apprehensions  might  he  quieted. 
How  is  your  Honor,  this  morning  ?  Not  a  member  of  Congress,  I  re- 
plied, but  a  preacher.  How  then,  is  your  Reverence  ?  The  brogue  of 
the  stranger  settled  the  point  that  he  was  from  the  Emerald  Isle,  and 
we  walked  in  company  towards  the  Manse.  There  was  an  Irish  warmth 
in  the  manner  of  my  guest,  whilst  we  immediately  perceived  that  he 
was  not  devoid  of  the  eloquence  peculiar  to  his  nation,  and  before  leav- 
ing us  it  became  certain  that  he  had  been  to  Blarney  Castle.  The  pitch 
of  his  language  was  high.  We  like  Ireland.  It  holds  the  broad  Shan- 
non and  Ovoca,  that  spreads  its  green  tints  by  the  side  of  its  manifold 
brooks ;  and  the  esthetic  Killarney  which  by  reflection  doubles  trees, 
buds  and  stars ;  and  the  Giant's  Causeway  which  supplies  numerous 
pilgrims  with  its  crumbling  pebbles.  But  by  this  time  we  had  reached 
the  Manse.  What  news,  I  asked,  do  you  bring  from  the  seat  of  the 
war.  They  are  fighting,  he  replied,  beyond  the  Rappahannock  ;  but  as 
it  is  sanguinary  work  a  notion  took  me  to  give  'em  French  leave. 
What :  are  you  a  deserter  ?  Nothing  of  the  sort.  Not- being  a  natural- 
ized citizen  of  the  United  States,  Uncle  Sam  had  no  right  to  the  ser- 
vices of  a  man  from  a  land  out  of  which  St.  Patrick  drove  all  the  snakes 
and  dislodged  all  the  toads.  May  it  plase  your  Reverence,  it  was  just 
walking  away.  Deserters  run.  Mine  was  a  ramble  at  leisure  along  the 
bye-ways  which  led  me  straight  to  your  home  so  renowned  for  Irish 
hospitality.  Was  not  aware  that  the  Manse  was  celebrated  for  its  hos- 
pitality. Then  your  Reverence  is  not  posted  up  in  what  you  ought  to 
know.  People  told  me  on  the  road  that  you  never  turned  off  a  Savoy 
hand-organist,  a  Swiss  emigrant,  or  a  wandering  Gipsey ;  and  the  good 
Book  says,  be  given  to  hospitality  for  thereby  some  unawares  have  en- 
tertained angels.  You  are  positive  then  that  you  are  no  deserter.  No,, 
Sirree.  No  Irish  gentleman  like  myself,  descended  from  a  Limerick 
Baron,  would  forsake  his  colors.  We  fall  with  our  feet  to  the  foe,  but 
General  Lee  reflects  no  discredit  on  any  cause.  He  could  fight  our  Irish 
Wellington,  or  take  the  plume  out  of  the  chapeau  of  Napoleon  First, 
Second  and  Third.  Such  is  the  fragrance  of  his  powder,  that  like 
Sicilian  hounds,  we  lost  the  scent  of  him,  and  he  may  be  at  Thorough- 
fare Gap  for  aught  General  Pope  can  tell.  Perhaps  your  Reverence 
goes  with  the  Confederates.  Don't  wish  my  politics  to  be  known,  I 
replied.  Your  Reverence  is  right.  Solomon  must  have  whispered  to 
you  so  wise  a  determination  in  these  days  of  fama  clamosa.  Were  you 
to  preach  from  the  Book  of  Esther  at  present,  some  would  say  that  by 
Haman  you  mean  President  Lincoln;  and  Jeff.  Davis  by  Mordecai  the 
Jew,  when  such  a  thought  might  not  have  entered  your  spotless  mind. 
Couldn't,  I  answered,  pervert  the  Bible  to  any  party  purposes.  Another 
wise  determination. 

How  unlike  the  Irish  priests,  who,  instead  of  saying,  repent  ye, 
mumble  out,  do  penance  ye.  Such  a  perversion  will  never  cross  your 
innocent  mind  or  escape  your  eloquent  tongue.  The  long  and  broad 
area  of  Ireland  does  not  hold  on  its  surface  so  generous  a  soul  as  your- 
self, and  perhaps  your  Reverence  would  like  to  swap  some  old  clothes 


26 

for  my  soldier  garb,  which,  is  better  than  the  brocade  of  Ispahan,  though 
variegated  with  gold  and  silver.  Uncle  Sam  dresses  up  his  army  and 
says,  dress,  men,  dress.  No  doubt  you  have  a  pair  of  pants  that  the 
Pope  might  wear,  and  a  vest  that  Wellington  would  have  caught  at, 
and  a  coat  like  that  which  Joseph  paraded  about  Shechem  and  Dothan. 
All  the  danger  is,  that  my  gratitude  for  the  swap  might  kill  me,  as  my 
heart  is  a  combustible  that  consumes  me  more  and  more  at  every  favor 
bestowed.  Shouldn't  like,  I  replied,  to  swap  without  paying  the  differ- 
ence in  ijhe  value  of  the  articles.  Difference.  _  Is  your  Reverence  seri- 
ous? Why  the  difference  will  lie  on  your  side,  payable  in  a  greenback, 
with  my  lasting  thanks  thrown  into  boot.  Come,  lets  drive  a  trade; 
The  lady  of  the  Manse,  I  replied,  has  gone  up  stairs.  She  knows  what 
you  want,  and  is  rummaging  in  her  old  chests,  drawers  and  trunks.  I 
saw  her  for  a  lady.  It  required  no  second  sight  to  find  out  that  she 
was  equal  to  any  Countess  in  Ireland.  She  is  worthy  of  a  Erin  go 
Braugh,  said  the  soldier.  So  we  drove  a  bargain.  But  woe  to  me, 
said  I,  if  they  catch  me  in  your  regimentals.  No  danger,  he  rejoined. 
They  would  as  soon  send  an  Ezra  or  Nehemiah  to  the  old  Capitol.  .  My 
guest,  so  redundant  in  blarney,  went  on  his  way.  My  suspicion  is  con- 
siderable that  he  was  a  half  deserter. 

Soldiers,  both  Federal  and  Confederate,  often  lost  their  way  in  our 
Prince  William  woods  and  lanes.  One  Sabbath  afternoon  an  officer  at 
the  head  of  six  men  rode  in  a  hurried  manner  through  my  gate.  "The 
men  stood  back  whilst  the  Major  advanced.  Though  invited,  he 
declined  to  dismount.  Your  cedars  hereabouts,  said  he,  are  very  intri- 
cate. They  are  so,  indeed,  I  replied.  Which  is  north  and  where  is 
west  ?  If  you  tell  me,  I  remarked,  the  exact  point  which  you  wish  to 
reach,  or  where  your  camps  are  pitched,  it  will  be  easy  to  put  you  on 
your  road.  He  was  perfectly  bewildered,  but  we  gave  him  a  map,  so 
that  he  reached  his  tent  in  safety.  We  were  always  curious  to  know 
from  what  quarter  strangers  might  have  come.  He  reported  himself 
as  Major  Robertson  from  Pittsburg,  Pennsylvania;  then  decamped. 
In  a  few  days 'he  paid  us  a  friendly  visit,  bringing  with  him  Chaplain 
Hunter,  brother  to  the  attorney  at  Charlestown,  va.,  who  prosecuted 
John  Brown.  He  lived  on  an  island  near  Detroit,  Michigan,  and  was 
quite  eloquent  in  his  description  of  the  scenery  by  which  he  was  sur- 
rounded. We  invited  him  to  preach  in  the  "  Church  which  is  in  my 
house."  He  partially  accepted  the  invitation,  but  said  something  about 
Apostolical  succession.  We  told  him  that  the  English  House  of  Lords 
was  a  curious  source  from  which  to  draw  our  authority  to  preach  the 
Gospel,  seeing  that  the  bishops  were  required  by  law  to  proclaim  that 
Gospel  but  four  times  out  Of  fifty-two  Sabbaths  in  the  year.  He  hinted 
that  the  Prelates  were  intended  to  keep  the  Presbyters  in  order.  'Tis 
strange,  then,  I  answered,  that  their  twenty-five  crosiers  could  not 
bang  Wesley  and  Whitfield  into  good  behavior.  We  waited  for  him 
beyond  the  hour  for  service,  but  the  Detroit  Chaplain  did  not  make  his 
appearance.  Major  Robertson  was  very  amiable  ;  fond  of  the  piano ; 
was  acquainted  with  my  friend  Dr.   Plumer  by  reputation ;  admired 


the  Pittsburg  ladies,  and  had  made  the  grand  tour  of  Europe.  The  last 
fact  rendered  his  conversation  quite  entertaining ;  but  we  have  not 
since  heard  either  from  the  Chaplain  or  the  Major.  We  are  indebted 
to  the  loss  of  his  way  for  a  visit  from  the  celebrated  Major  Moseby. 
He  called  about  nine  o'clock  at  night,  and  dismounted  under  some 
locust  trees  before  the  door  of  the  Manse.  A  full  moon  was  shining, 
but  the  shade  of  the  trees  prevented  me  from  a  good  view  of  his  con- 
tour, but  this  is  not  important,  as  John  Scott,  Esq.,  is  preparing  a  bio^ 
graphy  of  the  Major,  which  will  be,  doubtless,  quite  as  interesting  as 
the  adventures  of  Daniel  Boone,  of  Baron  Trenck,  or  even  of  Alexander 
Selkirk.  It  has  been  said  that  Confederates  were  liable  to  lose  the 
road.  Two  of  them  took  their  supper,  one  night,  at  a  house  about 
three-fourths  of  a  mile  from  the  Manse,  and  were  then  pressed  to  stay 
till  the  crack  of  light,  but  they  alleged  that  they  had  never  seen  the 
scribbler  of  the  Decades,  and  wished  to  see  him  before  they  went  back 
to  the  Opelousas  country.  Well,  they  missed  the  sight  by  missing  the 
road,- and  got  over  to  a  neighbors  on  the  other  side  of  Arrelton  Hill. 
Glad  they  did'nt  come.  Why,  says  the  reader.  An  hour  before  day- 
light the  Federals,  twenty  strong,  surrounded  my  house  looking  for  the 
gents  as  if  they  had  been  the  two  spies  who  entered  Jericho  in  the  time 
of  Joshua.  We  had  no  flax  stalks  in  which  they  could  have  been  con- 
cealed. So  the  Federals  went  away  whilst  the  two  were  asleep^like  a 
couple  of  bugs  in  a  carpet  rug.  And  one  evening,  when  strolling  out-, 
side  of  my  gate,  the  writer  met  a  company  of  Confederate  cavalry, 
under  the  command  of  Captain  Alfred  Carter,  who  lost  an  arm  at  Luray, 
Page  county,  Va.  They  wanted  to  know  the  shortest  cut  to  Catlett's, 
and  that  cut  lay  exactly  by  the  door  of  my  kitchen.  One  of  the  men 
spied  an  oven  in  which  were  sixteen  or  twenty  rolls  of  bread  which  the 
fire  had  browned.  They  were  torn  asunder  in  a  twinkle,  though  we 
grant  its  being  clone  by  as  well  bred  gentlemen  as  the  Master  of  the 
Holls  in  England.  There  was  a  scrambling  as  if  they  were  beggars 
from  Naples,  and  each  man,  unlike  the  Idumean  Patriarch,  devoured 
his  morsel  alone.  Every  one  ran  from  his  comrades  like  a  chicken 
that  gets  a  crumb.  At  first  the  writer  was  out  of  humor,  but  my  ire 
lasted  not  so  long  as  the  tints  of  the  rainbow,  when  we  felt  reconciled 
to  the  raiders  on  the  oven.  Happy  to  say  they  found  rations  upon 
their  reaching  the  depot  at  Catlett's.  Nor  did  we  all  go  supperless  to 
bed,  for  we  waited  patiently  for  a  second  oven  full,  made  out  of  a 
barrel  of  flour  sent  me  by  General  Sykes.  He  was  a  Maryland  gentle- 
man, for  Maryland  is  famous  both  for  its  ladies  and  gentlemen.  For 
the  present,  adieu. 


28 
LETTER  No.  VIII. 


The  famine  had  become  grievous  in  the  land,  and  there  was  no  Egypt 
into  which  we  could  send  for  supplies ;  nor  any  balm  which  could  be 
presented  to  those  who  held  the  keys  that  were  locking  up  oats,  corn 
and  wheat.  How  often  had  the  writer  doubted  whether  a  dearth  of 
provisions  would  ever  reach  that  portion  of  Virginia  in  which  his  lot 
had  been  cast.  Little  do  we  know  of  the  future.  It  became  clear  that 
my  pictures  of  continued  plenty  had  been  penciled  on  green  leaves 
which  were  destined  to  fade,  or  on  clouds  subject  to  evaporation.  My 
services,  as  a  minister,  began  to  take  their  complexion  from  the  circum- 
stances in  which  we  were  placed.  One  of  my  discourses,  or  rather  one 
of  my  talks,  was  from  the  text,  "  The  Lord  will  provide."  Habakkuk 
says  that  the  Christian  has  a  dependence  on  something  higher  than  the 
buds  of  the  fig-tree,  or  the  blossoms  of  the  vine.  The  Idumean  believer 
went  living  on,  after  his  olives  had  perished  and  his  fields  were  smitten. 
His  flocks  were  killed,  and  his  stalls  were  empty;  and  the  Idumean 
eagle  could  plume  his  wings  from  a  warmer  nest  than  the  one  occupied  by 
the  Patriarch.  Our  Lord  assures  us  that  man  liveth  not  by  bread  alone. 
Even  at  such  a  time  we  thought  it  right  to  celebrate  at  the  Manse  the 
supper  which  our  Lord  had  instituted  on  the  night  before  his  crucifix- 
ion. We  had  no  wine,  however,  on  our  premises,  and  it  was  a  rare 
element  throughout  the  neighborhood.  But  Charles  Green,  member  of 
the  Independent  Church  of  Savannah,  being  apprised  of  my  wishes, 
sent  me  enough  to  supply  the  communicants,  for  wThich  my  sincere 
thanks  were  returned.  Two  silver  goblets  belonging  to  Mrs.  Jones  of. 
Sharon,  had  been  left  at  my  house,  and  they  were  used  on  the  solemn 
occasion.  The  day  was  bright,  and  the  congregation  crowded.  Some 
were  under  the  trees  of  the  yard,  some  on  the  steps  of  the  stairs,  and 
others  in  the  rooms  of  the  Manse.  Several  ministers  were  present  who 
gave  me  help  in  the  service,  and  seldom  has  it  been  my  lot  to  attend  on 
communicants  more  apparently  devout.  May  they  advance  in  grace. 
The  Divine  Life  has  in  it  both  an  upward  and  downward  tendency. 
The  Japanese  permit  their  trees  to  attain  their  full  growth :  but  then 
dwarf  them  down  to  the  smallest  possible  dimensions,  and  carry  them 
about  in  diminutive  vases.  So  with  the  great  Husbandman.  The  more 
his  people  tower  on  high,  the  more  does  he  reduce  them  into  lowly  vio- 
lets. And  here,  allow  me  to  ask,  why  may  not  the  Lord's  Supper  be 
administered  in  a  lower  as  well  as  an  upper  room — in  a  Manse — a  grove, 
or  on  the  slope  of  a  hill,  as  well  as  in  a  Church  ?  When  were  the  Cov- 
enanters more  happy  than  when  they  sung  among  the  braes  and  kneeled 
on  Scottish  heather  !  or  when  were  Whitfield  and  Wesley  more  success- 
ful than  when  they  stormed  the  air  circulating  on  the  open  fields  and 
sequestered  downs  of  England  ? 

Mention  has  been  made  of  what  may  be  called  an  incipient  famine. 
Destitution  has  at  times  taken  place  in  Canaan,  Egypt,  the  Canary  Isles, 
and  often  in  Ireland,  but  particularly  in  the  seige  of  Londonderry.  The 


29 

reader,  perhaps,  may  smile  incredulously  when  we  speak  of  a  famine  in 
Virginia :  but  we  can  assure  him  that  we  are  not  inventing  a  fiction. 
The  blockade  grew  tighter  and  tighter,  and  many  were  starved  at  last 
into  the  semblance  of  patriotism.  It  became  my' duty  then  to  employ  some 
means  in  the  way  of  providing  for  my  own  household,  or  else  be  deemed 
worse  than  an  infidel.  To  beg  we  were  ashamed.  The  writer  never 
could  relish  the  works  of  Goethe,  because  of  his  spending  so  much  of  his 
ink  in  describing  coarse  German  meals :  but  the  calls  of  the  appetite 
must  be  satisfied  either  by  hook  or  by  crook  About  this  time  we  heard 
that  Gen.  Sykes  was  encamped  near  Ringwood,  my  former  residence. 
He  was  reported  to  be  from  Maryland,  and  we  knew  that  every  Mary- 
lander  must  be  a  gentleman  from  absolute  necessity.  My  note  to  him 
is  withheld  because  such  a  variety  of  those  missives  were  written,  that 
their  insertion  would  swell  these  reminiscences  to  an  undue  proportion. 
My  youngest  daughter  was  sent  with  the  communication,  and  we  told 
her  first  to  read  what  the  Apostle  James  had  said  about  the  use  of  the 
tongue,  and  also  the  incident  in  the  life  of  JEsop,  whose  master  told  him 
to  buy  the  best  thing  in  the  Roman  market,  and  the  next  morning  to 
buy  the  worst  thing,  and  each  time  he  took  home  a  tongue.  "With  the 
tongue,  said  the  Fabulist,  we  praise  God,  and  with  the  same  member  we 
abuse  our  neighbors.  Trust  me  said  the  young  lady,  to  be  gentle  as  the 
ring-streaked  dove,  and  meek  as  the  meekest  bird  that  flew  in  Paradise 
before  the  Fall.  She  found  the  General  engaged  in  his  tent ;  but  the 
voice  of  my  ambassadress  penetrated  to  the  ear  of  Captain  Jay,  who 
was  a  member  of  the  General's  staff.  The  Captain  made  his  appear- 
ance and  received  my  letter.  You  are,  doubtless,  said  the  lady,  a  col- 
lateral relative  of  Chief  Justice  Jay.  The  Jays  of  New  York  are  a 
distinguished  clan.  We  h<ave  heard  of  them  even  among  the  pines  of 
Prince  William.  A  relative  of  mine  married  one  of  the  clan,  but  he 
was  not  a  brother ;  for  then  he  would  never  have  been  a  Prelatist,  or 
been  ordained  by  a  bishop  instead  of  a  Presbytery.  How  soon  had  the 
young  lady  forgotten  the  epistle  of  James  and.  the  wit  of  iEsop.  Why, 
said  the  Captain,  your  father  speaks  in  his  very  legible  note  of  all  the 
denominations  as  representing  the  cardinal  points  of  the  compass — as 
sailing  on  the  same  ocean  and  steering  for  the  same  haven.  True,  Cap- 
tain, but  the  tongue  of  a  lady  is  privileged  to  box  the  circle  of  the 
world.  My  remarks  were  meant  to  be  playful,  and  win  you  over  to  a 
little  sympathy  in  the  affairs  of  one  who  is  as  fond  of  Mocha  as  was 
Napoleon  First,  and  who,  in  a  running  way,  has  preached  from  the 
Merrimac  to  the  Cumberland,  leaving  at  the  same  time  a  few  of  his 
exhortations  in  Chatham,  Cedar  and  Wall  streets  in  the  renowned  city 
of  the  Knickerbockers.  Let  me  consult  the  General,  replied  the  Cap- 
tain. Be  in  haste,  when  serving  a  lady,  for  she  can  say  to  one,  go,  and 
he  goeth ;  and  to  another,  come,  and  he  cometh ;  and  the  captain  reap- 
peared in  a  few  minutes.  And  what  says  the  General  ?  asked  the  lady. 
He  says  that  a  private  can  drive  you  and  myself  to  the  Manse.  What, 
then,  Captain,  will  become  of  my  steed  ?  A  soldier  shall  ride  him  along 
at  an  easy  pace  ;  and  accordingly  the  ambulance  was  started.  It  reached 


30 

my  house  about  twilight,  and  we  found  my  new  acquaintance  to  be  a 
perfect  gentleman,  of  about  twenty-one  years  of  age,  and  well-informed. 
He  sat  with  us  till  nine  of  the  clock,  but  on  taking  leave  remarked : 
Gen.  Sykes  requested  me  to  present  his  respects,  and  assure  you,  that 
to-morrow,  he  would  send  supplies  to  your  house.  Present  my  respects, 
Captain,  to  the  General,  with  many  thanks  for  his  kindness.  The  next 
day  the  ambulance  arrived  well  stocked  with  provisions  ;  and  over  and 
above  the  substantial,  Captain  Jay  had  added  an  olla  podrida,  com- 
posed of  materials  from  spice  islands.  We  found  some  cinnamon  from 
Ceylon,  and  a  good  deal  of  pepper  from  Borneo,  and  some  superior  mus- 
tard from  Tewsberry,  England.  Come  driver,  said  I,  come  and  partake 
of  the  repast,  to  be  provided  out  of  the  commodities  you  have  brought. 
We  must  enjoy  together  a  cup  or  two  of  this  Java.  In  the  mean  time 
the  lady  of  the  Manse  will  express  her  gratitude  to  Captain  Jay,  for 
one  of  her  letters  is  worth  a  score  of  my  own.  The  soldier  and  the 
dominie,  or  the  boss,  as  he  called  me,  sat  down  to  our  meal,  and  he  told 
me  of  his  neat  little  home  near  Boston,  his  vegetables  and  sundry  flow- 
ers that  he  collected  into  bouquets  for  the  ladies  of  that  city,  until  the 
writer  conceited  himself  to  be  talking  to  that  Roman  Emperor  who 
boasted  so  much  of  the  products  of  his  Dalmatain  farm,  or  to  Pliny, 
who  wrote  con  amore  about  the  poppies  of  his  villa.  Captain  Jay  ac- 
companied Sherman  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea  coast,  and  we  hope  that  he 
escaped  all  injury  in  the  closely-contested  battle  of  Bentonville. 

The  writer  is  a  believer  in  a  special  Providence ;  and  the  man  who 
does  not  so  believe,  cannot  be  far  short  of  atheism.  He  can  keep  to  his 
dreary  creed,  if  he  please  :  but  hope  he  will  not  seek  to  deprive  me  of 
a  faith  which  has  sustained  my  courage  in  the  darkest  hours  of  what 
men  call  fortune.  But  about  this  time  we  heard  of  several  boxes  pro- 
vided in  Washington,  and  awaiting  transmission  to  my  house  :  but  how 
to  get  them  up  was  the  question.  A  letter  was  addressed  to  General 
Ayers  from  the  State  of  Maine,  explanatory  of  my  wishes,  to  which  he 
replied  in  the  politest  terms,  that  they  should  be  sent  to  his  care.  A 
married  daughter  of  yours,  he  remarked,  sent  me  a  quantity  of  ice  when 
we  were  encamped  in  the  hot  fields  of  Virginia,  and  it  will  give  me 
pleasure  to  comply  with  jour  request.  This  was  acting  like  a  gentle- 
man ;  and  the  affairs  arrived  with  an  additional  one  from  Baltimore. 
The  one  from  the  Monumental  City  inspired  peculiar  emotions,  because 
it  was  sent  by  persons  in  no  way  connected  with  the  Manse.  The  last 
was  opened  in  a  full  congregation  of  the  family,  both  white  and  black, 
and  we  wished  that  we  could  all  have  been  photographed  at  the 
time  when  the  hatchet  flew  at  the  box.  Its  contents  would  have  been 
valuable  in  peaceful  times ;  but  how  much  more  so  at  a  period  of 
scarcity  engendered  by  war.  Thanks  to  my  friends  on  the  Patapsco, 
with  an  assurance  that  their  kindness  will  not  be  soon  forgotten.  It 
will  perhaps  give  them  pleasure  to  hear  that  my  two  daughters  imme- 
diately became  as  fine  as  a  couple  of  Baltimore  birds.  The  lady  of  the 
Manse  was  dressed  like  a  fiddle.  The  boys  drew  on  the  socks  and  boots, 
and  the  ebonies  came  in  for  a  share  of  the  spoil,  whilst  the  Dominie 


31 

devoured  the  books,  and  handed  over  the  greenbacks  to  his  better  half. 
But  from  time  to  time  scarcity  would  continue  its  cheerless  visits. 
One  day,  however,  a  carriage  arrived  at  my  door,  driven  by  Gibson 
Catlett,  Esq.     It  was  laden  with  the  good  things  of  this  life.     To  whom, 
said  I,  is  the  Manse  indebted  for  this  unexpected  help  ?     Not  to  be  told, 
was  the  reply.     The  gentleman  does  not  know  the  difference  between 
his  right  and.  left  hand  in  acts  of  this  kind.     Very  well ;  the  ebonies 
will  help  you  in  taking  out,  as  the  Dutch  say  to  their  guests  at  meal 
time.     The  reader  may  say,  perhaps,  vours  must  have  been  a  humili- 
ating position.     But  let  him  remember  that  my  position  was  not  the 
result  of  idleness  :  though  the  writer  does  not  deny  his  being  the  idlest 
white  man  in  Virginia.     Nor  was  it  within  my  province  to  make  the 
war,  for  we  honestly  deprecate  all  war,  except  when  the  Creator  reveals 
it  as  His,  and  not  our  scourge.     King  David  was  once  obliged  to  eat  the 
shew  bread,  and  King  Alfred  was  once  glad  enough  to  devour  a  few  oat 
meal  cakes  when  pressed  by  the  Danes.     Often  our  supply  of  the  Mocha 
was  scanty,  and  what  scribbler  could  live  without  coffee  ?     In  the  use 
of  it  Napoleon  could  fight,  and  Schiller  could  write.     It  is  better  than 
the  nectar  which  the  Pagan  deities  used  to  drink,  but  it  is  not  good 
without  sweetening.     Honey  or  sugar  is  indispensable  to  the  fragrance 
of  that  berry.     A  Federal  soldier  called.     The  next  time  you  come,  said 
I,  bring  me  some  sugar,  if  it  be  only  as  much  as  can  be  held  in  the  palm 
of  my  hand.     At  that  he  stepped  out  to  his  haversack,  and  on  his  return 
he  poured  out  some  seven  thimblesful  of  saccharine  into  a  hand  quite 
cheerfully  extended.     You  must  have  grown  covetous,  the  Marylander 
may  say,  for  there  was  plenty  in  the  oyster  State.     Not  guilty  so  far  as 
my  neighbor's  house  is  concerned,  but  guilty  on  the  specifications  and 
counts  of  coffee,  green  tea  and  sugar.     Does  not  Irving  tell  us  what  sort 
of  tea  General  Washington  drank  at  Mt.  Vernon,  and  at  what  hours  he 
called  for  the  beverage.     Rather  minute,  we  think,  on  the  part  of  the 
Knickerbocker  historian.     Good  taste  demands  that  we  should  not  go 
too  much  into  detail  about  trifles.     But  quite  fortunately,  the  writer 
had  fallen  into  company  with  Captain  Hazard,  at  the  house  of  Dr. 
Osmyn.     He  had  been  an  editor  in  the  Northwest,  and  was  quite  com- 
petent to  an  historical  discussion  on  the  state  of  the  country :  and  the 
discussion  was  carried  on  in  the  finest  humor.     We  then  advised  him, 
when  the  war  was  over,  to  come  down  into  Virginia ;  to  get  married, 
and  live  in  a  cottage  in  sight  of  the  Blue  Ridge.     This  advice  so  cajoti- 
vated  his  fancy  that  he  sent  me  twenty  pounds  of  coffee  and  sugar. 
Hurrah  for  Captain  Hazard.     But  the  reader  may  ask,  have  you  not 
erred  by  introducing  into  these  papers  your  consort,  sons'  and  daugh- 
ters ?     Perhaps  so,  but  then  each  one  had  to  play  his  or  her  part  in  the 
domestic  drama.     Every  man  thinks  his  own   sons  Solomons,  and  his 
daughters  queens  of  Sheba.     What  would  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  be 
if  we  take  out  of  it  the  wife  and  children  of  the  old  Vicar  ?     Hope  the 
reader  will  pardon,  even  though  he  may  condemn.     For  the  present 
week,' adieu. 


32 

LETTER  No.  IX. 


Great  want  of  coffee  and  sugar.  The  lady  of  the  Manse  kept  hiding 
the  Mocha.  You  must  not  put  away  anything  of  the  sort,  I  remarked 
to  my  better  half.  Suppose,  then,  she  replied,  that  company  should 
come  in,  how  can  we  entertain  our  guests  ?  In  the  following  way  :  If 
we  lay  up  our  stores  Providence  will  not  send  us  any  more,  but  if  we 
use  them,  that  Providence  will  know  all  about  our  destitution,  and  He 
will  be  sure  to  provide  for  our  wants.  Agreed,  said  the  fair  daughter 
of  Eve.  The  last  berry  from  Java  shall  be  put  into  the  mill,  and  then 
some  will  come.  But  who  will  go  for  us  to  the  Federal  camp  ?  The 
writer  had  instructed  his  family  to  call  the  Northerners  not  Yankees, 
but  •  Feds,  until  we  found  out  that  they  preferred  the  former  designa- 
tion. Then  my  scruples  immediately  vanished.  Go,  said  I,  to  the 
youngest  daughter  of  the  household,  go  to  the  Yankee  camp,  and  tell 
General  Newton  to  sell  me  some  Java.  You  bear  the  name  of  Julia,  a 
name  once  held  in  respect  among  the  war-like  Romans.  Let  me 
give  you  some  advice.  Keep  your  tongue.  Let  it  be  quiet  as  a  bird 
when  asleep.  Remember  that  you  spoke  to  Captain  Jay  quite  authori- 
tatively. I'll  mind,  said  the  lady,  and  stand  in  his  presence  like  the 
aspen  you  planted  at  Ringwood  before  Julia  Ringwood  was  born.  But 
notice,  I  replied,  one  thing:  A  night  or  two  since,  Moseby  made  one 
of  his  Spanish  forays,  and  on  that  account  Gen.  Newton  may  look  at 
you  as  sternly  as  Joseph  on  his  goat-herd  brethren.  Speak  to  him 
softly  and  persuasively  in  the  rich  silver  tones  that  should  always 
characterize  a  Manse,  where  Siloa's  brook  ought  to  murmur  by  day  and 
by  night.  Start.  The  cream-colored  pony  is  at  the  rack,  and  if  you 
evince  the  milk  of  human  kindness  we  shall  certainly  skim  off  some- 
thing better  than  milk.  My  neighbors  say  that  the  owner  of  the 
Manse  knows  no  more  about  human  nature  than  Dominie  Sampson 
who  figures  in  Guy  Mannering,  or  the  preacher  that  Sir  W.  Scott 
represents  as  asking  after  the  health  of  his  parishioners,  when  the 
objects  of  inquiry  had  been  twenty  years  in  their  graves,  or  a  mouse 
that  will  certainly  be  caught  in  the  trap  of  the  Old  Capitol.  Be  off — 
be  off — 

And  through  the  pines  the  lady  went, 
On  getting  Mocha,  firmly  bent. 

Newton  was  in  his  marque  when  the  General  Ambassadress  presented 
herself,  arrayed  in  her  hazel  eyes  and  ruby  cheeks,  set  off  by  a  parcel 
of  smiles.  My  sire,  General,  wishes  your  permit  to  purchase  at  the 
commissary  store  a  little  Java,  Mocha,  Brazil  or  even  Liberia  coffee. 
In  a  few  hours — say  twenty-four  in  number — he  will  be  three  score 
years  and  ten,  and  we  wish  to  celebrate  his  birth-day,  not  in  Jamaica 
or  Burgundy,  or  even  in  bad  Falermar,  or  the  weak  wines  of  Switzer- 
land, but  in  a  liquid  more  harmless  than  any  drink  ever  made  out  of 


33 

Athenian  currant.  Do  yon  know,  Said  the  General,  that  but  yester- 
night, Moseby  made  a  dash  on  our  camp  and  stole  fourteen  horses. 
We  have  so  heard,  said  the  Roman  Julia,  but  he  probably  conceited 
that  they  were  wild  horses  running  on  the  Western  prairies.  Besides, 
when  that  was  done,  we  who  live  at  the  Manse  were  asleep  in  our 
hammocks.  Moseby  must  be  a  kind  of  somnambulist.  He  seems  to 
mount,  ride  and  fight  in  his  sleep,  and  no  man  can  be  responsible  when 
unconscious  of  what  he  is  about.  Your  father,  you  say,  is  above  the 
military  age.  Long  ago,  General,  long  ago ;  but  were  he  young  as 
Adam  before  his  fall,  he  would  not  in  nine  hundred  years  engage  in 
war.  He  is  not  an  Esau  roaming  in  quest  of  game,  but  a  plain  man 
dwelling  in  tents,  and  like  Isaac,  he  often  goes  forth  to  meditate  at 
evening-tide.  Is  the  old  man  well  ?  said  the  General.  Quite  hale  and 
hearty.  He  can  still  walk  off  his  five  miles ;  but  sends  me  because  no 
Knight  of  La  Mancha  can  deny  a  few  berries  to  a  lady.  But  don't  you 
harbor  Moseby  ?  No,  General.  He  called  one  night,  but  we  could  not 
force  him  into  our  quiet  haven.  He  seemed  to  be  asleep,  but  in  his 
dreaming  he  spurred  his  horse,  and  the  steed  flew  away  like  the  one 
mentioned  in  the  Persian  Tales.  Besides,  my  sister  Mary  had  been  to 
your  camp  in  Fairfax,  and  on  her  coming  out  she  met  the  Major,  who 
threatened  to  serve  her  as  Mary,  the  Queen  of.  Scots,  was  served,  if  she 
would  not  tell  him  the  position  of  your  pickets.  But  she  refused  on  a 
point  of  honor,  and  the  Major  fell  into  a  nap,  and  she  passed  on  with- 
out being  sent  to  Lochlevin  Castle  or  decapitated.  He  menaced  me  in 
the  same  way,  but  Julia  Ringwood  would  not  have  told  on  your 
pickets,  even  had  the  Major  wielded  the  club  of  Hercules,  or  strung  the 
bow  of  Powhatan,  or  held  the  sword  of  Wellington  flashing  in  her  hazel 
peepers.  We  must  entertain  the  Yankees,  because  if  we  don't  they 
will  take  what  they  choose.  The  Confederates,  too,  are  armed,  and  we 
are  before  them  like  so  many  trembling  humming  birds.  They  can 
imperiously  say  to  us,  get  that  zether — put  on  your  thimble  and  make 
its  wires  sound  out  a  Tyrolese  air,  or  go  to  that  piano  and  give  us  the 
Bonnie  Blue  Flag,  or  Bruce's  Address  to  the  Scots,  or  the  Marseilles 
Hymn.  You  know,  General,  that  we  ladies  catch  beaus  more  by  our 
music  than  by  our  looks,  and  it  would  be  hard  to  deny  us  a  chance. 
True,  my  sister  is  involved  in  Hebrew  Paradigms,  Algebraic  equations 
and  Conic  sections.  She  will  never  be  satisfied  till  she  quadrate  the 
circle,  or,  like  Mary  Somerville,  understand  the  Mechanique  Celeste  of 
La  Place.  Therefore,  in  the  twenty-two  years  she  has  lived  we  never 
heard  her  say  beau  once';  but  as  for  me,  were  a  handsome  one  like 
Adonis  to  propose  he  might  be  accepted,  after  due  consideration.  Not 
very  anxious,  however,  till  the  right  one  come.  But  don't  you  think, 
said  the  General,  that  the  deeds  of  Moseby  would  justify  us  in  laying 
waste  Virginia?  Never,  never,  replied  the  lady.  The  true  hero  is 
content  with  the  sword.  He  never  flies  to  the  torch.  You  were  born 
in  Virginia.  You  must  love  her  twin  capes,  broad  valleys,  blue  moun- 
tains, her  unrivaled  law-givers  and  her  inspiring  legends.  Would  you 
turn  out  mothers  and  children  to  the  wintry  storm,  and  old  men  to  the 
3 


34 

raging  tempests  ?  Every  Athenian  wore  a  gold  grasshopper  in  the 
button-hole  of  his  coat  to  intimate  that  he  jumped  up  from  classic  soil. 
Can  Virginians  do  less  than  they  who  forced  Socrates  to  drink  the 
hemlock  when  they  ought  to  have  feasted  him  on  the  honey  of  Hymet- 
tus?  Attack  Moseby,  but  not  our  matrons  and  damsels.  Here  the 
eyes  of  the  General  were  somewhat  moistened.  You  are  quite  eloquent. 
No,  said  the  lady';  not  the  least  pretension  in  that  way  commonly,  but 
when  pleading  for  a  Java-less  father  I  can  talk  as  earnestly  as  did 
Jeanie  Deans  to  Queen  Caroline.  We  must  celebrate  his  birth-day — 
and  surely  you  don't  wish  it  done  in  coffee  made  out  of  rye,  wheat,  or 
John  Barleycorn.  Come,  General,  grant  the  boon  we  crave.  My 
tongue  is  tired.  It  has  talked  long  enough  to  have  gained  all  the 
gums  of  Arabia,  the  poppies  of  Turkey,  the  barks  of  Quito,  and  the 
aromatics  of  Borneo,  instead  of  a  few  berries.  Now,  at  this  stage  of  the 
affair,  who  should  appear  but  Col.  Bankhead.  He  had  overheard  the 
diplomatic  colloquy  like  a  curious  Erasmus,  though  born  in  Fredericks- 
burg and  not  at  Rotterdam.  General,  said  the  young  friend,  you  are  a 
man  who  listens  to  argument,  and  then  yields  to  conviction.  Such  is 
the  mark  of  a  wise  commander.  The  father  of  this  young  lady  is  known 
to  my  Colonelship  in  the  following  way :  In  1840,  he  officiated  for 
eight  or  nine  moons  among  the  crags  of  Fredericksburg,  and  on  one 
occasion  he  preached  from  the  text — "  I  shall  die  in  my  rest."  The 
Mocha  is  indispensable  to  the  comfort  of  his  nest,  and  if  he  die  without 
it  we  may  be.  accessory  to  his  premature  demise.  True,  Gen.  Grant 
has  ordered  a  tight  blockade,  but  he  is  not  like  Wellington,  an  iron- 
hearted  Duke.  His  peepers  are  often  suffused  with  tears,  and  the 
application  before  us,  from  a  tearful  lady,  would  melt  an  Osceola  or 
Tecumseh.  Let  us  not  be  impracticable,  for  secession  was  engendered 
among  the  impracticables  of  New  England  during  the  time  of  the 
embargo,  and  then  adopted  by  those  of  South  Carolina;  and  the 
putting  of  it  down  is  likely  to  cost  us  banks  of  money  and  scores  of 
lives.  Allow  me  to  assure  you,  General,  that  his  Reverence  of  the 
Manse  is  a  harmless  man.  When  in 'romantic  Fredericksburg  he  had 
a  cushioned-chair  in  Charles  Wellford's  store,  and  with  his  ankles  rest- 
ing on  a  ledger  he  talked  about  various  things ;  such  as  the  currant 
bushes  of  Athens  with  Menceos  a  Greek  ;  and  then  about  the  flowers  in 
the  vales  of  Spiraz  and  Cashmere,  though  there  was  neither  Persian 
nor  Hindoo  in  the  place ;  and  then  about  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  at 
Venice  ;  the  marble  palaces  of  Genoa ;  the  Gonfaloniers  of  Florence — 
then  about  the  Great  Mogul — the  Ghauts  of  the  Himalayah,  Chinese 
junks,  et  cetera.  But,  said  the  General,  didn't  he  shoot  over  the  heads 
of  his  hearers  ?  He  did ;  but  that  arose  from  his  aversion  to  killing 
any  body.  Every  man's  hand  is  for  him,  but  his  against  no  man.  He 
is  not  an  Arab.  We  must  not  send  him  to  Babylon  to  hear  the  shriek 
of  the  bittern  and  the  cry  of  the  cormorant,  and  like  Nebuchadnezzar 
to  browse  on  Chaldean  grass.  Does  he  never  simplify  his  talk,  asked 
the  General.  Yes,  his  discourse  runs  carelessly  about  the  feet  when  he 
wants  us  to  trample  down  error ;  and  he  has  had  a  skirmish  with 


35 

Abbott  about  bis  calling  Napoleon  a  great  man.  He  regards  tbe  Cor- 
sican  as  a  pickpocket,  but  Wellington  as  baving  restored  bis  plunder- 
ings  to  tbe  purses  of  European  kings.  But  be  keeps  his  politics  sub- 
rosa,  for  be  bas  been  menaced  alike  with  the  Carroll  and  the  Libby.  I 
can't  remain  mum  any  longer,  said  the  lady.  Colonel,  your  speech  was 
as  sweet  as  if  a  hogshead  of  sugar  had  spoken,  though  it  came  out  of  a 
bead,  the  bank  of  which  is  rich  in  tender,  beautiful,  truthful,  historical 
thoughts.  Young  lady,  said  the  General,  go  and  buy  what  you  want, 
whispering  at  the  same  time  upon  the  tympanum  of  Bankhead's  ear, 
"  put  her  money  into  the  mouth  of  her  sack."  So  the  fair  one  came 
ambling  to  tbe  rack  of  the  Manse  about  sundown.  On  leaving  the 
camp  she  was  accosted  by  an  officer  bearing  a  sugar-dish.  The  lordly 
dish,  he  remarked,  is  the  property  of  Uncle  Sam,  but  tbe  contents  are 
my  own.  Please,  said  the  lady,  wrap  it  in  a  Washington  Chronicle  or 
in  Bennett's  Herald,  and  then  it  can  be  carried  in  my  hand.  I  can  take 
the  sugar  in  my  right  hand,  and,  like  Lord  Raglan,  guide  my  steed 
with  the  left.  Wish  that  General  Newton,  Colonel  Bankhead  and 
yourself  could  come  up  and  help  us  to  celebrate  the  seventieth  birthday 
of  my  father.  We  would  take  no  denial,  but  that  wizzard  Moseby  is 
in'  the  saddle.  You  sent  infantry  after  him  through  our  farm.  Do 
you  think  that  cavaliers  can  be  caught  by  snails.  The  officer  laughed. 
Conclusion  next  time. 


LETTER  No.  X. 


Lieutenant  Miller  came  to  my  house,  bringing  some  music,  which  be 
bad  purchased  either  in  Washington  or  Baltimore.  The  young  ladies 
were  quite  thankful,  as  the  pieces  he  brought  were  new.  It  seems 
strange,  that  both  Federal  officers  and  privates  always  preferred  the 
performance  of  secession  songs.  The  Star  Spangled  Banner  was  certainly 
at  a  discount ;  but  its  being  below  par,  might  have  arisen  from  want  of 
novelty,  for  it  has  been  in  vogue  since  the  war  of  1812.  Tbe  writer 
bas  studied  throughout  these  papers  to  conceal  his  politics ;  otherwise 
be  might  say  that  secession  pieces  were  played  with  a  little  more  spirit, 
and  patriotism  for  tbe  time  being,  may  have  been  sacrificed  to  tbe  grat- 
ification which  skill  is  sure  to  produce.  And  then  so  many  of  the 
soldiers  were  from  abroad,  that  German  airs  and  Italian  duets  were 
quite  acceptable,  together  with  pieces  from  Spain  or  Hibernia.  The 
Lieutenant  was  devoted  to  the  piano ;  and,  indeed,  fondness  for  music 
was  far  more  a  characteristic  of  the  Northerners  than  tbe  Southerners. 
Lieutenant,  said  I,  you  have  been  in  several  battles,  and  did  you  stand 
up  to  the  fight  like  an  Egyptian  pyramid  ?  Can  a  pyramid  run,  be 
archly  replied.  Jackson  flanked  us  at  Chancellorville,  and  we  put  off 
in  a  hurry,  officers  and  all.  It  was  impossible  to  stand  his  battery. 
He  was  accompanied  by  an  Irishman,  who  said  in  my  presence  that 
Napoleon  First  was  a  great  man.     This  fired  me  immediately ;  but  in 


36 

planting  my  batteries  the  Lieutenant  suddenly  rose  and  said  he  must 
go,  though  pressed  to  remain  for  tea.  But  he  persevered.  They  had 
not  been  gone  more  than  three  minutes  before  two  Confederates,  not 
mounted,  but  armed,  approached  the  Manse.  "We  then  rejoiced  at  the 
going,  not  wishing  that  my  premises  should  be  moistened  by  a  drop  of 
blood,  though  the  dew  of  Hermon  is  perfectly  welcome  to  fall  over  the 
whole  of  my  farm.  Those  fine  steeds  which  the  Federals  rode  might 
have  tempted  the  Confederates  to  a  skirmish,  perhaps  on  the  floor  of 
the  Manse,  and  the  kitchen  darkies  would  have  been  alarmed.  One  of 
these  darkies  was  named  Beauregard,  not  by  the  lord  or  lady  of  the 
Manse,  but  by  his  mother.     My  proclivities  not  to  be  known. 

The  anniversary  of  my  seventieth  birth-day  had  arrived.  The  fami- 
ly had  been  in  the  habit,  for  many  years,  of  noticing  the  day,  but  the 
writer  never  cared  much  about  Christmas  trees,  or  rustic  collations,  or 
family  meetings,  so  pleasing  to  the  taste  of  many  persons.  But  three 
score  years  and  ten  make  quite  an  era  in  the  frail  life  of  any  man.  It 
was  my  wish,  however,  to  postpone  the  affair  until  peace  should  come, 
in  hopes  that  if  life  were  spared  another  year,  the  very  unimportant 
day  could  then  be  remembered,  under  more  propitious  auspices.  But 
before  rising,  my  young  ladies  came  into  my  chamber,  saying  :  as  this 
is  your  natal  day,  we  wish  you  to  appear  in  Yankee  dress.  We  have 
already  prayed  that  you  may  live  as  long  as  Parr  of  London,  or  Jen- 
kins of  Lincoln,  or  the  white-headed  Methuselah.  Yankee  dress,  I  re- 
plied, when  only  half  awake.  Why,  the  Confederates  will  send  me  off 
to  Belle  Isle  if  they  catch  me  in  such  a  costume.  There  are  none  of 
them  about  at  present.  Moseby  is  up  in  the  mountains,  and  the  Black . 
Horse  are  scouting  on  the  Bapid  Ann,  and  the  Provost-Marshal  at  Cat- 
lett's  has  sent  you  a  heap  of  things.  They  are  laid  on  the  chairs,  and 
its  time  to  rise.  But  one  of  you  must  stop  and  explain  the  articles. 
Well,  then,  here's  a  felt  hat  sent  by  a  New  Hampshire  man,  and  the 
boots  that  Bundy  gave ;  or  you  can  decide  between  the  shoes  which 
Alexander  brought,  and  those  of  Col.  Le  Due ;  and  here  are  pants, 
waistcoat,  and  coat ;  the  last  without  a  seam,  and  presented  by  a  Yan- 
kee surgeon.  They  will  answer,  I  replied,  for  the  exterior — but  the 
under-garments.  Here,  then,  are  four  or  five  of  the  affairs  about  which 
Tom  Hood  wrote  a  song,  and  a  bundle  of  socks  out  of  which  you  can 
choose.  They  came  from  Lowell,  where  Gen.  Butler  lives,  and  where 
ittl'e  pale-faced  girls  work  sixteen  hours  a  day.  Sorry  to  hear  it.  Poor 
things,  for  ebony  Beauregard  won't  work  sixteen  seconds.  Was  always 
opposed  to  excessive  industry.  And  here,  too,  are  several  stocks.  Now 
dress  and  appear  like  Solomon  in  all  your  glory,  as  he  did  on  his  gala 
days.  The  morning  had  worn  away  imperceptibly  to  a  sleeper,  and 
we  had  scarcely  risen,  before  a  runaway  couple  had  entered  the  Manse. 
We  want  to  be  married,  said  the  groom.  At  that  Cassius  Carter  step- 
ped forward  as  groomsman,  and  presented  the  license.  Why  this  is  not 
a  printed  license  ?  Don't  print  it  these  times,  he  replied.  The  clerk 
wrote  it  with  a  pencil  instead  of  a  pen.  Stand  up  then  ;  and  the  bride 
was  first  on  the  tapis.     They   were   in  a  hurry,  and  off  immediately. 


37 

Happy  to  say  the  two  families  that  had  quarreled  about  the  match,  had 
a  great  making  up  next  day,  for  what's  the  use  of  crying  over  that 
which  can't  be  undone.  Handed  the  fee  to  the  lady  of  the  Manse,  ten 
dollars,  partly  in  Confederate  money,  greenbacks,  fractional  currency 
and  specie.  All  worth  something  at  the  time.  Spent  several  hours  in 
ruminating  on  my  boyhood,  when  everything  about  Georgetown,  D.  G, 
looked  green  to  the  eye,  and  though  not  a  poet,  actually  wrote  forty  lines, 
expressive  of  thankfulness  for  all  the  way  in  which  my  gracious  Lord 
had  led  me  ;  lo,  these  seventy  years  in  the  wilderness,  and  not  without 
a  hope  of  soon  reaching  that  paradise,  one  of  whose  flowers  has  never 
been  agitated,  nor  one  of  its  leaves  rustled  by  the  pestilential  breath  of 
war.  But  Mary  Landon  and  Julia  Ringwood  now  entered  the  parlor 
with  a  bowl  of  the  Java,  on  which  the  cream  was  floating  quite  as  pret- 
tily as  the  cork  of  an  angler.  Each  one  of  you,  black  and  white,  said 
I,  may  take  a  cup  ;  but  this  bowl  is  for  my  special  use.  So  we  all  en- 
joyed the  Java  as  if  we  had  been  at  the  table  of  St.  Cloud,  in  the  time 
of  Napoleon,  the  great  coffee  drinker.  But,  said  I,  did  not  Ella  Ed- 
monds, the  rebel,  and  Sarah  Ruby,  the  Union,  each  send  me  a  bottle  of 
blackberry  wine  ?  They  did,  but  they  are  locked  up,  said  the  lady  of 
the  Manse,  who  is  great  on  temperance.  Remember,  she  continued,  in 
your  picturesque  voyage  sent  to  Dr.  Reese,  that  after  the  Black  Bird 
escaped  out  of  the  Sea  of  Alcohol,  the  ship  entered  Wine  Sea.  Oh, 
that  was  a  sea  made  out  of  Burgundy,  Oporto,  Talernian,  Madeira,  and 
not  blackberries  culled  from  Prince  William  fields.  Blackberries  can 
never  prevent  a  man  from  counting  the  horns  of  the  moon.  Didn't 
Mrs.  Osmyn,  from  Jersey,  send  me  four  bottles,  and  Charlotte  Mitchell 
three,  and  Irene  Leach  two,  and  Mrs.  Green  five.  Don't  all  the  reli- 
gious papers  exhort  us  to  make  blackberry  wine  for  the  promotion  of 
temperance..  Unlock,  or  else  people  will  say  that  you  are  as  hard  to 
manage  as  was  Mrs.  John  Wesley,  in  England.  It  is  my  wish  to  drink 
the  health  of  Gen.  Lee.  Then  your  politics  will  be  known.  No,  my  politics 
are  not  pinned  to  the  sleeve  of  Gen.  Lee,  but  he  is  your  cousin.  Whilst  he 
was  a  captain,  we  never  heard  you  claim  kin  with  him ;  but  now  its 
cousin  Lee.  So  we  remembered  the  general,  and  the  servants  went  off, 
wishing  old  master  many  happy  years  to  come.  A  Highland  chief, 
when  arrayed  in  his  right-angled  plaid  cap  and  plume,  never  felt  hap- 
pier than  the  owner  of  the  Prince  William  Manse,  on  the  day  to  which 
allusion  has  been  made.  The  bagpipe,  however,  was  not  present  at  the 
entertainment,  for  my  enjoyment  of  music  is  not  remarkably  vivid. 

A  preacher  called  to  forewarn  me,  that  my  arrest  might  take  place  at 
noon.  Didn't  believe  one  word  of  the  marvelous  story.  But  in  the 
event  of  its  being  true,  the  writer  resolved  to  take  along  with  him  the 
history  of  his  times,  and  continue  it  in  the  Old  Capitol,  remembering 
that  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  wrote  the  History  of  the  World  in  the  Tower 
of  London,  and  Bunyan,  his  Pilgrim's  Progress  in  the  Bedford  prison. 
The  lady  of  the  Manse  was  requested  to  fold  up  a  few  articles  of  wear- 
ing apparel.  The  minister  who  took  such  an  interest  in  my  welfare, 
was  about  skedaddling  to  Richmond,  but  it  was  not  in  vain  that  Nehe- 


38 

miah  left  on  record  the  following  words,  "  Shall  such  a  man  as  I  flee  ?" 
Never,  whilst  the  temple  of  God  is  to  be  built.  But  about  noon,  the 
ebonies  reported  the  rapid  approach  of  two  Federal  officers.  They  were 
descending  the  declivity  of  a  hill,  which  lies  to  the  east  of  the  Manse ; 
and  they  dismounted  in  a  twinkle  after  coming  to  the  rack.  Draw 
chairs,  gentlemen.  Lieutenant  Zimmerman,  said  the  younger  of  the 
twain.  Are  you  not  of  Swiss  descent,  Lieutenant,  probably  the  grand- 
son of  some  Zurich  Burgomaster,  and  the  Burgomasters  are  looked  upon 
as  an  orde^r  of  nobility  in  the  land  of  Wilhelm  Tell.  My  reason  for 
asking  you,  is  as  follows.  In  a  decade  of  letters  by  Ulrich  Bodmer, 
which  appeared  in  a  Richmond  paper,  and  purporting  to  be  written 
from  the  Bear  city  of  Berne,  mention  is  made  of  an  author,  who  pub- 
lished a  book  on  Solitude,  and  afterwards  became  physician  to  the  King 
of  Hanover.  Not  a  doubt  of  your  being  a  collateral  relative  of  that 
distinguished  man.  It  may  be  so,  the  Lieutenant  replied.  And  you 
seem  to  be  all  alone  as  Zimmerman  used  to  be,  among  the  Bernese  rocks. 
Yes,  Mary  Landon  and  Julia  Ringwood  are  from  home.  My  son,  Wilr 
liam  Cowper,  is  in  the  Black  Horse,  and  my  other  sons,  Charles  Carter 
and  Robert  Monro,  are  in  Forrest's  Legion,  to  the  Southwest.  But 
hope  you  will  both  dine  with  me,  and  you  will  then  see  the  lady  of  the 
Manse,  a  person  worth  seeing.  Understand,  Lieutenant,  that  you  are 
the  arresting  officer.  Just  so,  he  replied,  and  it  is  a  most  unpleasant 
office,  but  a  soldier  is  obliged  to  "obey  his  orders.  It  need  not  be  so  to 
you,  I  rejoined,  for  being  an  officer  you  can  resign.  Resign,  then,  forth- 
with, and  all  men  will  hold  you  in  the  highest  esteem.  Don't  you 
know,  he  remarked,  that  we  own  this  part  of  Virginia.  Col.  Pierce,  I 
answered,  holds  Manassas,  but  Moseby  seems  to  dispute  his  possession, 
and  Jackson  in  three  days  may  dislodge  him  from  his  stronghold.  Nev- 
er, never,  he  answered,  quite  in  haste.  But  do  you  think  he  is  any 
where  north  of  the  Rappahannock  ?  Don't  know,  but  he  seemed  to  be 
pluripresent  in  the  Valley,  and  perhaps  that  pluripresence  will  not  for- 
sake him  on  the  east  of  the  Ridge..  Dinner  was  announced.  Gentle- 
men, it  is  a  war  dinner,  but  warriors  like  Marion,  ought  to  get  used  to 
such  repasts.  But  we  can  give  you  a  bowl  of  coffee,  and  you  can  choose 
between  the  Mocha  and  the  Java.  Glad  to  see  you,  gentlemen,  said 
the  lady  of  the  Manse ;  but  it  seems  to  me,  that  instead  of  coming  to 
the  war,  it  would  have  been  vastly  better  that  you  were  both  leading  at 
home  a  lowly  and  devout  life,  feasting  all  the  time  on  the  sweet  and 
rich  promises  of  the  Bible.  War  illustrates  that  solemn  declaration. 
What  is  your  life  ?  It  is  a  flower  that  cometh  up  in  the  morning  :  but 
in  the  evening  it  is  cut  down  and  withereth.  We  are  not  Christians, 
they  replied.  But  you  ought  to  be,  she  rejoined.  Were  you  disciples 
of  the  Saviour,  you  would  lose  your  taste  for  war ;  and  if  not,  you  have 
no  time  for  such  a  dangerous  pursuit,  unless,  like  Mohammed,  you  be' 
lieve  that  upon  falling  in  battle  you  are  in  consequence  translated  into 
paradise.  That  is  not  our  creed.  Rejoiced  to  hear  it,  replied  their 
interlocutrix  ;  but  they  rose  from  the  table  and  took  a  respectful  leave. 
Present,  said  I,  my  kind  regards  to  Col.  Pierce,  and  tell  him  that  to- 


39 

morrow,  at  the  hour  of  eleven,  A.  M.,  it  is  my  intention  to  preach  near 
his  camp.  Let  him  reduce  his  charges  against  me  to  writing,  and  let 
the  paper  be  endorsed  with  three  hours'  allowed  for  the  defence.  Let 
your  file,  of  men  arrive  in  time  to  hear  the  sermon.  The  writer  went, 
and  soldiers  came,  but  each  one  was  mum  about  my  arrest.  We  politely 
invited  them  to  repeat  their  visit  at  my  next  appointment,  and  they 
gave  me  a  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand  as  they  rode  off  to  their  camp,  and 
this  was  the  last  of  the  rumor  about  my  arrest.  But  precisely  in  three 
days  Jackson  was.  thundering  at  Manassas.  Col.  Pierce  escaped  to 
F.airfax,  and  my  friend  Zimmerman  was  taken  prisoner,  and  sent  to 
Libby.  It  made  me  sad  as  he  went  by  Greenwich,  but  he  bore  up  like 
a  man  in. his  adverse  fortune.     We  hope  he  may  prosper. 

Visited  Bristoe,  which  is  four  miles  from  the  Manse,  where  soldiers 
were  laying,  who  were  wounded  in  the  skirmish  between  Ewell  and 
Hooker.  It  was  a  mournful  sight.  Dr.  Strickler  was  in  attendance  as 
a  surgeon.  He  was  from  Luray  in  the  County  of  Page.  A  handsome 
young  lady  was  aiding  the  Doctor  in  nursing  the  mangled  victims  of 
war.  So  the  lady  and  surgeon  made  up  the  match,  and  subsequently 
called  on  me  to  tie  the  knot.  This  was  done  at  Brentsville,  on  a  pleas- 
ant morning,  just  after  breakfast.  The  writer,  before  the  ceremony, 
waited  on  Col.  Grill,  the  Federal  officer  in  command,  and  asked  him  if 
he  had  ever  seen  a  Yirginny  wedding  ?  .  He;  replied  negatively.  Then, 
said  I,  the  minister  has  always  the  right  to  vinvite  a  guest.  So  come 
along,  and  make  yourself  at  home. ...  The  wedding  party  set  off  for  the 
Blue  Ridge  immediately  after  the  refreshments  common  on  such  joyful 
occasions,  and  the  writer  returned  through  Brentsville  to  the  Manse. 
Poor  Brentsville, 

Whose  roofless  homes,  a  sad  remembrance  bring, 
Of  what  its  gentle  people  did  befall : 

for  we  saw  lawyers  without  offices,  doctors. without,  medicines,  ministers 
without  Churches,  and  women  and  children  without  any  shelter  but  the 
sky.  Shades  of  George  Fox  and  William  Penn,  what  a  sight.  How 
pensive  and  appalling  to  the  man  who  longs  for  the  time  when  the  lion 
and  the  lamb  shall  repose  in  the  same  shade,  and  when  warriors  shall 
spur  their  steeds  into  olive  groves,  and  not  into  Aceldemas. 

It  is  well  known  after  the  battle  of  Gettysburgh,  in  Adams  County, 
Pa.,  that  Gen.  Meade  advanced  on  the  south  of  Rappahannock.  He  was 
compelled  to  fall  back  on  his  ramparts  at  Centreville.  At  that  time 
Lee's  army  passed  us  at  quite  a  short  distance  from  the  Manse.  Gen. 
Stuart  was  a  man  of  fine-commanding  presence,  and  upon  making  my- 
self known,  found  him  remarkably  polite,  but  he  hurried  on,  for  a  battle 
was  being  fought  in  the  front.  But  the  chaplains,  of  course,  kept  out 
of  the  fray.  They  had  gone  on  with  the  army,  but  hearing  that  the 
author  of  the  Picturesques  and  the  Decads  was  left  in  the  rear,  returned. 
We  will  call  the  roll,  though  at, present  they  cannot  answer  to  their 
names.  Parris  of  Norfolk,  Methodist  Protestant ;  Garland,  Methodist 
South;    Hughes   of  North  Carolina;  Voss   of  Amherst;    Hopkins  of 


40 

Berkeley ;  Kennedy  of  Alabama.  The  four  last  were  Presbyterians. 
Come,  brethren,  and  spend  the  night.  The  manse  is  the  very  place  for 
chaplains.  The  hours  glided  imperceptibly  away.  Before  retiring,  the 
Methodist  South,  gave  us  a  truly  devout  prayer,  and  in  the  morning  the 
Methodist  Protestant  did  the  same  thing.  Parris  remarked  to  me  :  You 
turn  out  to  be  a  smaller  man  than  I  expected.  We  have  traveled  with 
you  from  Japan  to  Rotterdam,  and  sundry  other  places,  and  thought 
that  you  must  be  somewhat  robust  to  encounter  so  much  fatigue.  Oh, 
said  I,  Marco  Polo  was  not  a  large  man,  though  a  very  large  wanderer. 
My  person  is  the  finest  in  Prince  William.  Were  it  a  little  more  iso, 
nothing  of  me  would  be  left.  How  much  do  you  weigh  ?  About  ninety- 
nine  and  three-fourths  of  a  pound.  Come,  lets  be  off  to  camp,  said 
Hughes  and  Garland,  and  the  writer  walked  with  them  to  Gen.  Ewell's 
residence,  but  the  General  was  with  the  army. 

To  conclude  these  recollections.  There  are  materials  for  another 
Decade,  but  at  present  it  may  be  wise  to  stop.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
character  of  Addison  which  commands  my  admiration  so  unreservedly 
as  his  gratitude.  And  in  closing  these  reminiscences,  it  is  ornamental  to 
thank  my  Creator  for  all  His  goodness.  He  often  planted  a  hedge 
around  me  and  mine,  during  the  war ;  but  the  hedge  often  became  laden 
with  flowers,  and  some  wicket-gate  crowned  with  blossoms,  was  often 
opened,  by  which  to  escape  into  the  green  pastures  of  our  Heavenly 
Shepherd.  William  Cowper  and  Charles  Carter  received  no  wound 
during  the  war,  though  under  them  three  horses  were  killed,  and  three 
more  were  killed  under  Robert  Monroe,  my  eldest  son.  The  last  was 
wounded  either  at  Fort  Donelson,  or  Shiloh,  but  as  the  ball  did  not  pro- 
duce either  a  simple  or  compound  fracture,  the  wound  will  not  affect 
his  standing  at  the  Memphis  bar.  Under  a  furlough  from  Forest,  Charlie 
came  in  once  to  see  his  mother,  after  an  absence  of  years.  Great  was 
our  joy  at  his  arrival.  In  the  review  of  these  incidents,  my  heart  glows 
with  thankfulness,  but  not  without  sympathy  for  the  multitude  of  moth- 
ers and  sisters  in  our  land  who  refuse  to  be  comforted.  May  they  all 
seek  and  find  the  balm  of  Gilead. 


41 


Reference  was  made  in  my  preceding  letters  to  several  poetical  lines 
which  were  written  in  commemoration  of  the  writer's  seventieth  birth 
day.     The  following  are  the  lines  : 

My  heart  inspire,  oh,  Lord,  with  gratitude, 

Throughout  this  day,  in  all  its  round  of  hours  !' 

Recall  each  hill-side  slope  and  copse  of  wood, 

From  which  were  cull'd  my  knots  of  school-boy  flowers. 

Remind  me,  too,  of  when  my  footsteps  strayed 
'Mid  poplar  walks  'round  Nassau's  classic  Hall ! 

And  the  dense  beech-trees  cast  their  summer  shade, 
Ere  evening  bade  its  vesper  star  to  fall. 

Remind  me,  too,  of  early  comrades  gone, 

Who  play'd  with  me  till  yonder  sun  had  set, 
And  yet  till  darkness  came,  we  lingered  on, 

Then  hurried  home  with  dews  of  evening  wet. 

Prompt  me  to  think  of  travels  far  and  wide, 

On  land  or  wave— o'er  sundry  hills  and  plains — 

On  waters  rough — on  streams  that  smoothly  glide — ' 
Beneath  Thy  power,  that  o'er  this  vast  world  reigns. 

And  why  not  think  of  birds  whose  lovely  plumes 

Gleamed  through  the  air,  or  flashed  from  forest  trees  ? .   ■ 

All  gone !  although  they  sang  in  sylvan  rooms, 
Unlock'd  for  them  by  summer's  shining  keys. 

And  in  the  niches  of  my  chequered  years, 

No  brighter,  purer,  sweeter  days  have  shone 
Than  Sabbath  days,  when  all  exempt  from  cares, 

And  free  to  muse  on  God,  and  Him  alone ; 

•  Or  hear  the  solemn  Kirk- ward  going  bell 

Call  to  the  hill  and  dale — the  lane  and  street — 

Ye  people  come  and  by  your  presence  swell 
The  sacred  court  where  dense  assemblies  meet. 

But  is  there  no  futurity  for  men  ? 

No  morn  to  break  beyond  sepulchral  sleep  ? 
If  so,  may  we  of  three  score  years  and  ten, 

For  our  spent  days  of  anguish  weep. 

To  this  coarse  earth  a  Paradise  succeeds, 

Where  every  leaf  is  of  the  deepest  hue  ; 
And  off  its  Tree  of  Life  the  Saviour  feeds 

His  ransomed  flock  on  fruits  forever  new. 


42 

Oh,  beauteous  fiqck^-the  flock  of  happy  souls==* 
Who  wing  thejr  way  on  more  than  wheels  of  fire  j 

And  always  drink  their  fill  from  golden  howls, 
Yet  in  their  rush  for  bliss  can  never  tire. 

Adieu !  adieu  to  years  forever  gone  ; 

The  clue  is  waving  now  from  gates  of  pearl, 

And  in  the  act  of  swiftly  beckoning  on 

To  where  sweet  clouds  of  incense  always  curl. 
>. 

He  reached  the  age  of  six  and  thirty  years, 
Then  Byron  wrote  some  lines  of  tenderness, 

In  which  no  spark  of  gratitude  appears, 
For  bonnie  gifts  and  mercies  numberless. 

But  may  my  memory  on  this  day  review 
My  way  through  life's  all  tangled  labyrinth, 

And  watch  the  hand  that  holds  the  certain  clue, 
That  winds  me  down  to  funeral  hyacinths. 

Among  the  archives  of  Thy  throne  on  high, 
Oh,  Lord  !  my  Lord,  lay  up  this  song  of  praise ; 

And  then,  perhaps,  some  Arch-angelic  eye 
May  read  the  chart  of  my  departed  days. 


